Paid in Full
by sakhara291
Summary: Behind every womanizer, there was once an amazing woman. Behind every great ship, there was a great ambition. And behind every secretive man, there has been a terrible secret. A story of Jack, pre- Pearl, and what it took to get there.
1. Prologue The Letter

This is a story about a pirate in a clergyman's robes. This is the story about a desire than ran, and ran deeper than the ocean. This is about a man who bought a first mate and a whore in one, and received the world. This is the story of a woman who lived in the debt of a pirate, and died to make him a captain.

This is a story of love, lust, loot, and lunacy; such as they go together in one volume. Other stories share the same topics, and some may ring truer, and some may be written more eloquently, and a few may even go into publishing and be remembered by the world as a great masterpiece. This is not one of those. 

No, this is a story I write, almost hoping that no one else will ever acknowledge. You see, Alinnya, it has been over a decade since we last met, and I know now that even when I die, I cannot hope to meet you in the same circle of Hell. So it is. But I am starting to forget. I woke up this morning and for the first time, and I did not see your face. For the first time, I forgot your name. I have been with so many women since you left, love. You wouldn't believe me if I told you. None of them have had this effect. But apparently time, more than all the love I have for you, conquers all. So before I forget, I intend to write it all down. Yes love, every sordid detail. I'm sorry, though I still remember exactly how your breasts fit in my hands, but just in case. You know how it is. 

I promise you this much, darling, in that these pages will not outlive me. The ship will, and love, it is a beautiful ship. I spent every shilling we saved on it. The sails are black as soot, the cannons are stout and deadly, and the wind catches her with all the tenderness of a lover's kiss, and the fleet could not touch her. I named her the _Black Pearl_. You'll forgive me; I thought it appropriate. She reminds me of you, and thus the name. But life has not been so kind to me with her as she was with you. All good things pass with time, eh? But that is a story I will tell you in Hell. For now, remind me of the best stories, our stories, love. I don't want to forget this, too.

Yours eternally,

Jack Sparrow 

[A/N- I don't know what kind of updates I'll give you with this, honestly. It was a fleeting thought that makes a good tale that I don't know!]


	2. Ship to Slave

She was lying on her side. On a bed, somewhere, that was reasonably comfortable. She wasn't quite sure if this should warrant any pleasantness from her at all. She opened her eyes and looked around the sparsely furnished room, bathed in shadow save for one patch of sunlight from the window. His boots were resting in that patch, and her eyes traveled slowly up the form to meet his. Inquisitive brown to iron grey. A small smile was set in his lips and eyes, and she found it most disturbing. Her eyes didn't leave his as she tested her bonds, but it was no use. Her hands were tied securely behind her back, almost too tightly, certainly uncomfortable, and her feet as well. 

"Beautiful, you can relax." Her captor stood up, walking towards the bed, and kneeled at eye level with her. "If I'd wanted my way with you, that's how you would have woken up. Savvy?"

"Then what the fuck do you want with me?" it was a half snarl, and little more than a whisper. She was terrified, and expected her voice to betray her.

"Well, you see, love –and don't you dare hit me after I've done this- this is what I want with you." With that, he reached over and gently untied her hands, bringing the right one into his own, and studying it. She watched him warily. "Where does a woman get the brand of a slave, a prostitute, and a pirate, and how does said woman have calluses nearly as thick as my own?"

She bit her lip before replying. "I was taken captive on Captain Jonathan Brady's ship, the _Hawk_. He caught me looking through some maps a week ago, or thereabouts, and was very angry about it. So he sold me. Here I am."

The pirate nodded, not letting go of her hand. "Do you remember those maps, girl?"

She smiled cunningly. "How could I forget?"

I need a first mate on my ship, the _Death Flight_." He released her hand. "If you know the location of the treasure, the position is yours, whether or not there is any treasure there. When we get that treasure, you get a half-share, and your freedom. If there is none, then you'll just have to pay yourself off by… other means." He grinned devilishly at her. It was an expression she did not return.

"May I inquire as to the name of my captain, sirrah?"

"Sparrow. Captain Jack Sparrow. And the name of my first mate?"

"Sheridan. Alinnya Sheridan."

"Well Alinnya, the last name's Irish enough, so where did you get a first name like that?"

"I was born in India. It's an Indian name."

"Fair enough." He stood and walked over to the dresser, digging through its contents while she untied her ankles. "I don't know," he flung some shirts and a petticoat, of all things, into a corner. She sat cross- legged on the bed, pooling the flimsy underdress around her legs, hands in her lap, rubbing her chaffed wrists. "If anything I have will fit you." He flung a shirt and some trousers her way. "But it's what I have."

She slid the pants on, under the dress, and buttoned them. They were a little loose, but nothing she couldn't live with. She wished she still had her sword. "Can I have a knife?"

He raised an eyebrow, looking slightly shocked. "You're not going to do anything stupid, are you?"

She walked over and took his knife out of his belt. She was a good head shorter than him. She turned and sat on the stool he was using earlier, slicing the long ends of the pants so that they didn't drag under her feet. She then sliced out at the waist of the dress, pulling off the skirt. She chopped the sleeves down to nothing, and slung the shirt over her head, straightening it self- consciously under Jack's watchful amusement. She then pulled her hair into a fist behind her head, and shopped it all off. The remaining length fell only to her jaw, much more manageable than the locks she'd been forming. She flipped the knife and handed it back, handle first. He took it slowly.

"I need boots, a sword, and a knife, before I can do anything useful."

"Then let's go, mi'lady." He took her arm in his, and she took it, somewhat uncertainly, and they headed out the door.


	3. You are drunk, sirrah

She studied him curiously, sitting across from him in the tavern, drinking her rum at a far slower pace than he was.

"I'm curious," he slammed his mug down, well on the road to drunken stupor. "Why is it that you don't trust me?"

"Exchange our positions. Would you?"

"I haven't laid a hand on ya, love."

"That's what bothers me. Why?"  
"Look over there," he gestured with his drink toward the bar, where a multitude of dolled women were chatting. "Whores are a dime a dozen, love. And not just here, but in any port we dock. But a beautiful woman, now that's something special. That's something worth a little more." He smiled slyly at her. "You are both my first mate and my guide to riches. Both are far more valuable than forcing your company, as it were."

"You are drunk, sirrah."

"No. But I will be shortly." He chuckled in some secret amusement. "I wonder, love, where are you going to sleep tonight?"

"What?"

"There is only one bed. It would be unbefitting a gentleman to make a lady sleep there, but I am _not_," he leaned forward for emphasis, "sleeping on the floor."

Her face betrayed none of the emotions she felt.  "Well then," she replied after a moment, "we best leave before you are drunk."

He laughed. "Quite right, beautiful." He threw down some coins on the table and stood, shakily taking her arm. "Let us go."

* * *

She crawled into bed long before he did, hoping that she could drown out the upcoming night's events in sleep, and awake pretending it would all be a nightmare. She did her best to disappear in the sheets, face to the wall, closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Sleep would not come, and she lay with her eyes closed, thoughts racing around her mind. She did not move when Jack got in, and the little bed shifted as he got comfortable, spooned up against her. She felt his lips brush against her shoulder, then the curve of her neck, while his hand ran up the side of her hip to rest on her waist. She had no earthly idea what to do.

"Some things, love," he whispered silkily behind her, "are worth far more."

With that, she felt his head rest itself between her shoulder blades, and his breathing grew slow and heavy. She laid there for quite some time, staring at the moonlight on the wall, caught in a fear that was born of complete confusion.


	4. What the

Jack lay in the bed, eyes closed, savoring the moment and trying to will its continuance. It didn't work. With a small sigh, he opened his eyes and looked down at the woman lying beside him. She had turned at some point in the night, one hand against his chest and her face pillowed in the crook of his elbow.

"Tell me what you want, lass. You do trust me."

He smiled, running a hand through her hair. Having her come to him was the mark of a good seducer. And it'd be hell to live with her on board if he pressed his advantage now. He aimed to get his own, whenever he liked it, without the blasted politics of the women you could pick up at any bar in a pirate's town. If it meant the niceties applied, the niceties applied. He certainly wouldn't complain. Her branding had been a positive light, but discovered later. Still. He chuckled quietly, brushing her hair back again and kissing her forehead.

It was then he noticed it. It normally would have been covered by her bodice, but just enough was visible to make his eyes widen in curiosity.

He moved out from underneath her, careful not to disturb her sleep, and deftly unlaced the bodice, his eyebrows raising in horror as he did so. He pulled the slip of fabric off her with more force than he intended, so great was his anger.

"What the-" her lip curled in rage as she woke, and she slung a fist to hit him, but he caught both her wrists in one swift motion and held them over her head, continuing his study of her mutilated body as she glowered at him.

"You better have a damn good explanation, missy," he hissed, looking in her eyes, "because someone has to pay for that."

"Why do you care?" she snarled.

"There is no punishment worthy of a man who will do this to a woman." He replied, trying his hardest not to jar the angry, red and infected scabs that covered her chest and torso. "Just tell me it stopped there."

She looked him silently in the eyes, and that was his answer.

"Hell," he spat, letting go of her. He paced around the room for a moment before turning back to her, sitting cross legged on the bed for the second time in two days. She looked angry, in the face, but the rest of her looked pitiful.

He wasn't sure if it had been a sword, a dagger, or just a piece of timber off the ship, but her sides were coated in fading bruises, her wrists still swollen and red from the ropes that had bound her, and her feet as well. What skin was left was slashed and smeared with knife cuts of varying depths and lengths, looking like designs a child would scratch in the sand. He looked back in her eyes, almost pleading.

"I don't know what to do."

"There's nothing you can," she replied quietly.

He sighed.  "Just tell me you know I would never do that to you." His face was almost eerie in the predawn darkness.

"Not unless you wanted the same," she smiled quietly, praying he would forget in short order.


	5. Eccentric Captain of a Comandeered Ship

It was long before dawn, two hours or better, and he knew Alinnya wanted to ask why they were leaving this early.  He also knew the crew wanted to ask why she was there, but right now she was hanging from the rigging, helping hoist the sails, and they were busy lifting the anchor, and loading supplies. He untied the _Death Flight_ from the dock, and with a steady shove, pushed the ship free. He walked luxuriously over to the helm and began to steer the ship out to sea. Dawn finally came, and part of the crew were at their daily tasks, a few sleeping soundly below, scheduled for the night watch. Alinnya walked up the steps toward him.

"Feeling better, love?" he asked, checking his compass.

She sighed, leaning against the railing, which gave him a splendid view. "Feels good to be home," she replied. "Care to explain the early departure?"

He laughed. "Mark Bowman, the captain of this ship, shot our captain and turned in our first mate, then burned the ship while she was at dock. That was the last time he was at fort, and we swore, when he came back, we'd exchange the dilemmas."

She laughed at that.

"Love, we do have a more serious problem ahead of us."

"Outside the crew?"

"If I stick to tradition, love, you'll be sleeping in the crew's barracks. And I doubt, the way they've been looking at you all morning, that you'd want to."

"I think I know what your solution to this problem is."

"Probably." He gave her a coy smile. "If you spend your nights in my quarters, the only thing they'd knock on is your professionalism, considering I did take you on as first mate."

"I can handle that," she replied, continuing her watch of the horizon.

"We'd have to continue last night's sleeping arrangements." Her position meant she couldn't get a good view of his hopeful face.

"So long as it doesn't mean you'll be ripping my shirt off every morning," she smiled back at him.

He thought for a moment. "Eventually," he replied, and the two chuckled, looking back out to sea.

"So where am I headed, love?" he finally asked, once the islands were out of sight.

"Due west," she replied. "And I hope we've enough rations."

"Three weeks," he replied. She nodded.

"We should be fine, then," she sighed. "If the ship makes it."

"If the ship makes it?" he was almost worried, now. "Where in hell's name are we going?"

She turned back to look at him, raising her hands and spinning in a little dance toward him. "Eventually? The Caribbean."  
"Eventually?"

"There are several pit stops along the way. I hope you're in for an adventure," she laughed, grabbing the rigging and hoisting herself toward the crow's nest. He watched her go.

"What the bloody hell have I gotten myself into?"


	6. What I Did

[A/N- if you do not like sex, or at least reading sour lemons, skip over this one. Also, in this time frame, our dear Captain Sparrow has no dreadlocks nor beads. It'll explain why at a later date.]

Alinnya dropped herself on the bunk, wincing in pain and choking back a cry as the mattress hit some still- sore points on her back. All the work she'd done that day had pulled open the half healed sores, and she daren't complain about it within the crew's hearing, but with her watch done, dinner or no, she fell and bit back screams at the utter _ache_ that was her body, currently. Her thighs, her back, her wrists….. every ounce of her screamed in pain, sea spray rubbing at the wounds and staining the once off-white shirt with blood and puss. She lolled her head over to the side and tried to drown out the pain, willing herself to pass out or die, either one.

***

Jack brought a handkerchief with bread and a jug of ale with him when dinner was over, having noticed his first mate's conspicuous absence and somewhat concerned about the girl. Despite her words to him earlier that day, she had looked paler every time he had seen her afterwards, and he wasn't surprised to see her pass out on the bunk. He was somewhat surprised to see a mirror reflection of the larger scratches he'd seen on her dyed onto the shirt. He set the food down on the table and sat next to her, careful not to jar the bed, and pulled the shirt over her head, for the second time that day, and took a good study of her. 

_When all this fucking heals,_ he decided, _she'll be well worth the effort._

He put a hand on her forehead. Warm, but she wasn't running a fever yet. He walked over to the other side of the room and dipped a cloth into the wash basin, wringing out the excess, and came back, carrying the basin as well. He folded the one cloth and laid it over her forehead, taking another and wiping the sores as gently as he could. Judging by the look of them, it was probably the first time anyone had done so.

"Wha-" she jerked forward a little, but he pushed her back down. 

"Hush love," he ran his thumb over her cheekbone, "someone has to take care of you."

She pushed her cheek into his hand, her expression distorted with the attempt to hold back tears. He kissed her on the cheek, holding her for a moment until she relaxed.

"Now," he sat back up, "you lie there for a minute, and when this is taken care of, you eat. But if I end up in this position again, I'm tossing you overboard. Understood?"

She chuckled at that, which he took for a yes, and he continued his detailed inspection of her.

It boosted his pride even more that she fell back to sleep during the process.

***

He was having the world's worst time of it, he was sure. But it was like the horizon- he couldn't take his eyes off her. She actually wasn't in that bad a shape after she was cleaned up a little, and he found himself sitting there, watching her sleep, just running his fingers up and down her stomach. She moaned and stretched slightly as she woke up. "Enjoying the view?"

"Very much so," he smiled back at her, leaning forward to kiss her lips. It began simply, almost chastely, and the second she opened her mouth he found himself inside her, of her. His tongue slid inside her mouth, stroking against the side of hers, over the roof of her mouth and around her teeth, pulling away slowly. She caught his bottom lip, scraping lightly with her teeth. Her eyes met his playfully, and she sucked his lip into her mouth. He growled with the motion, his free hand running its way down her neck and across her collarbone, stopping with a fingertip- light touch at the side of her breast.  She moaned, her back arching into him instinctively, causing shudders to roll down his spine. He dominated her mouth in his once more and traced his fingers around the curve of her breast, languidly tracing a fingernail over her nipple, feeling it rise under his ministrations. She tangled her hands into his hair, breaking the string that held it out of his face. He kissed up her jawline, nipping at her earlobe before traveling down her neck to her collarbone. His hand traveled gently down to her stomach, catching the waistband and sliding toward the laces, bringing a terrified squeak from her.  He stopped and looked at her, puzzled.

"Too fast for ya, love?" he half smiled at her, his face slowly hardening in understanding. "Or am I about to see something I shouldn't?"

The sight of her jaw tensing was all the answer he needed. He attacked the laces, grabbing at her wrists to restrain her as he pulled them down, gaping at the long, jagged, ancient scars that coated her hips and thighs. There was absolutely nothing sexy about that.

She loosed one hand and pummeled his face, sending him reeling, and she stood, dressing herself. "Happy now?" she growled, walking toward the door.

"Is that for every time he…?"

"No," she wheeled, the door open behind her, interrupting him. "That's for every time _I _did."

She slammed the door behind her, walking across the deck to the prow, sighing and watching the sea slide by below her. She smirked, the expression as empty as she felt at the moment, and her eyes followed the horizon long into the night, seeing things that were far, far behind her.

Back inside the captain, Jack grabbed a bottle of rum and started the beginning of his long night.


	7. On the Road to a Dream

Jack staggered to the prow of the ship, careful on legs that were slightly tipsy. He stopped next to the silent first mate, and held a handkerchief out to her with a couple of biscuits. She took one, slowly, nodding thanks and looking to sea as she munched.

"I don't know about you," he offered, "but I am always in a better mood when I've something in me belly."

"Mm," she nodded agreement, munching. "T'ank ya."

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," he took another swig of the rum. "But you're on my ship now, and under my jurisdiction. And in my jurisdiction, women needn't pay for their own pleasure."

She looked down at him silently, looking back out to the horizon. "Has it ever happened to you?"

"No, love."

"It haunts you. You see it every morning when you wake up, every night when you go to bed. Whenever you think you're past it, it haunts you at the most inopportune moment. You never really get past it. You think you do, but…" she looked at him, her eyes sad in the moonlight. "I had so many opportunities to leave. To die, to desert, but…" she looked away again. "What do you want from this?"

"I want my own ship. Not one that I've commandeered, or bought, or traded. One that I have built, that I've designed, that I've offered my own blood for. I want a ship that will outlive us both."

"That might not be hard," she smiled at him. "It's expensive. Naturally it would have to be uncatchable."

"And unbeatable," he replied. "Black as the devil's heart and faster than the wind that carries her."

"That's why you're being so patient with me."

"I'm patient with you for your own sake. But yes, that's part of it."

"Once we get past the Straits, we're headed south. Around Africa."

"Are you taking me the long way? I don't plan to kill you."

"He's raiding the Philippines. If we take this route, it is the quickest way around him, and we loot his main hold last. We'll lose less if we're caught."

"We won't be caught," he smiled at her. "Now if you'll excuse me, I man the helm at daybreak. You have watch. Bed."

He motioned with the rum bottle to the cabin, and she let out a snort of amusement as she untangled herself from the rigging and followed him back.


	8. A Hard Day's Work

[A/N- WARNING. THIS IS WHY IT'S RATED R. Jack wasn't lying when he said _every_ sordid detail. Make sure the kids are busy somewhere else. For a while. And wow. *sings* Everybody loves me nobody hates me I think I'll write another chapter! *clap clap* Out of sheer curiosity am I doing all right on Jack's characterization? You have no idea how difficult it is until you try to write him! Thanks for the glowing praise to keep me motivated, all my reviewers, all ten of you! Kisses to all! I shall write more at top speed!]

Jack opened his eyes leisurely, lifting his head to look out the pitch- black window. There was at least an hour before dawn, and here he was, waking up. He groaned slightly as his head dropped back to the pillow. He was pretty well wedged into the bunk, until Alinnya woke up, his hard on threatening to bust through his trousers. He considered it momentarily. He wasn't really in the mood to restrain himself anymore. He'd been infinitely patient with this girl. And after all, all she could do was get over it, as she'd have to share a bed with him the next night. Or she'd get thrown overboard. But then again…

_To hell with it_, his much smaller head decided.

He kissed her shoulder, following the slope to the back of her neck and to her ear, chuckling slightly as the only reaction he got was a small sigh as she leaned against him in her sleep. Well then. He pushed his hand under her shirt, running it lightly up her waist, and tracing her breast with that same feather- light touch he'd found so effective before, shifting so that he could kiss her stomach, forcing her onto her back –Was she really _this_ heavy a sleeper? - and freeing his other hand as he kissed his way up her navel to her breasts, nipping each one lightly before moving on. His very breath against her stomach made her shiver, and a low moan made him pause momentarily. Well, she'd be up in a minute. He may as well make sure he'd get to finish before he was slapped. 

He unlaced her trousers and pulled them off deftly, kissing her hipbones before working his way back up her stomach, one hand slowly tracing it's way up her thigh, until it finally reached the place he wanted it to be.

_Well,_ he bit back a chuckle of relief. _This may not be so hard after all_.

She was so comfortably warm, and wet, and tight as all hell around his fingers alone that he felt himself twitch in anticipation. He added a second finger, delicately, slowly and unmercifully wiggling them to hit at different angles, testing each and every surface of his new- found toy. His thumb fished around for a moment, then started a merciless job of teasing that one little spot on a woman's body that worked miracles.

She'd thought it was all a dream. A very vivid one, but nonetheless. It was a fantasy that went crashing down as she gasped, her eyes flying open and her back arching hard, her whole body flying into this ethereal state in which she felt nothing, and everything at once. It felt like eternity, and she relished it, whimpering softly. She closed her eyes, breathing hard, waiting. Waiting for the laugh, the pain. Waiting for him to gloat. But it never came. Instead, the fingers worked inside her one more time, and he kissed her, almost chastely, on the lips. She opened her eyes, confused, and met his brown ones in the dim candlelight. For a moment, neither of them moved.

"Yes or no, love?" he whispered, withdrawing his hand. He was very careful not to smile as he felt her hips follow its departure.

She didn't answer, kissing him with all the fire running through her.

"No," he pulled away from her. "You're not pulling me into that trap. In a word. Yes, or no."

She didn't really understand why she was having so much trouble with it. Her voice was lost to her, somewhere across the room, in the ocean. He stole it with that kiss.

"Yes," it was a whisper, it almost wasn't there, but she said it. She ran her hands up his chest and buried them into his hair, pulling him down to kiss him. "Yes."

His tongue raked against hers, back and forth, back and forth, in a slow motion that sent goosebumps through her body. She moaned against him, her hands traveling to aid his in the struggle against his trousers. It took a minute or so, but they finally came off. He stopped kissing her, his eyes boring into hers, his hands traveling up her hips and her waist. She wrapped her legs around him, her breath coming in very audible gasps.

"What are you going to do when the whole ship hears you?" he asked quietly, his hands traveling up her arms and pinning her wrists.

"What are you going to do when they don't?" her mouth formed a half- smile, and she added a seductive look to it.

He laughed quietly, positioning himself right against her hips. She moaned in frustration as he teased her, pushing himself in only to the head before leaving again. He positioned himself so he could hold both her wrists in one hand and ran the other one down her collarbone to play with her nipple, dragging his nails across it rather hard, but stopping when she winced in pain. She opened her mouth to say something, but he interrupted her, kissing her brutally while he slammed his hips into hers. She squealed against him, and he held still, hanging onto a mild nirvana in this glorious moment. He used his free hand to brush up against her clit, holding himself as deep inside her as he could get, and stroked mercilessly. She gasped, and continued to whimper as he sped up his hand, her hips bucking and grinding against him, her wonderful little breasts crushed up against him. And for the second time, her world went spinning, as she jolted against him, spasming violently against his already strained erection. 

He let go of her arms, propping himself on that elbow instead, moving in and out of her at a languid pace, his head buried in the pillow beside hers. He waited a few moments until her breathing had slowed, and his hand started it's offensive against her again.

"Ah! I thought you said free," her voice was strained, part with laughter and part with arousal.

"And it is, love," he whispered against her ear. "Your pleasure is mine. I bring you, and eventually, you bring me. Savvy?"

He smiled, as her only reply was a strangled gasp and a tension that brought a groan out of him. He kissed her neck as his fingers continued their assault, his hips picking up the pace, as well. It was an unending cycle of building tension that made his head spin, and he kissed her jaw, her eyes, her lips, and the two of them were caught in that position for a long while. Her fingernails in his back were the last straw, and he thrust one last time, feeling like a puppet with cut strings. A flick of his fingers, and he sent her over one final time, a strangled whimper tearing from her throat. He rolled off to the side, sweat pouring off his body and sticking to the sheets. He gathered her, still shaking slightly, into his arms, and nuzzled against her neck.

"Jack…" she whispered, edging closer into him.

"Rest, love," he held her just a little more firmly. "I'm not going anywhere."

With that, she drifted off into her exhausted nirvana.


	9. My World Upside Down

His snoring was almost comforting. But she'd been lying there for a while, his breath tickling her neck, his arm wrapped around her waist possessively. She wiggled out of his grasp, standing in the darkness. The candle had burnt out, and the twilight cast a blue tone over the room. She stretched, her hands clawing toward the ceiling, looking around the room for her trousers. Her mind was running as quickly as it possibly could, no matter how she tried to slow it down. She pulled the pants up her legs and tied them quickly, a little tighter than was absolutely necessary. 

She sat for a moment, head bowed and hands clasped, and closed her eyes, remembering. For some reason she always remembered things in third person, and she mentally struggled against the memories, willing herself not to relive those five years of pain and humiliation, sharing close quarters with Jonathan. Or his crew. Suddenly her mind did a complete turnaround, and she found herself staring into his eyes. Those probing, bottomless brown eyes….

_Your pleasure is mine, love._ There was something huge in those words, but she couldn't wrap her head around what it was. 

"Are you going to talk about it, or not?" his voice cut through her reverie. She looked up at him, and the worry in his eyes betrayed his sarcastic tone.

She shrugged, an apologetic smile flitting over her face, quickly hidden by the pain in her eyes. He was surprised that she could look so… vulnerable. 

"Come here," he ordered, his voice quiet and entreating. She sat next to him on the bed, looking at the floor. He took her hand in his own, trying to comfort her without even being truly sure of the problem.

"Is it supposed to be like that?" her voice was little more than a whisper.

He brushed a few stray hairs out of her face. "You've been misused, love, and you know you've been misused, so why are you making this so hard?"

"I don't know. You're the one that threw my whole world upside down." She snapped, standing. He grabbed her arm, to hold her there, but she threw him off. "Let go. It hurts. It feels like… like… I have my watch," she spat, turning, and walked out the door, leaving him to dress himself. He could hear the catcalls already, and hurried into his pants, not quite sure what her response to that particular problem would be.


	10. No

[A/N- for those of you who asked for more Alinnya, here she is. Thank you for all the splendid reviews! What more could a girl ask for?]

There she was, in the crow's nest, watching the grey horizon in all directions. She stretched, holding herself by the rigging above her head. It would storm soon. Perfect.

There was no way that she could pull the demons out of her past and square with them without also losing her sanity. But staying on watch was the closest she could come. It wasn't particularly difficult. A trained eye noticed any spots or imperfections on the horizon fairly quickly. Her mind rerouted itself and gave the physical task a secondary position.

What the hell was she doing? Flirting with disaster? Had she forgotten every hard- learned lesson that she'd been scarred with? Men were not to be trusted, or desired, but played with and manipulated and seduced into doing whatever she pleased. The only time her resources had failed her was that last time, back in the captain's quarters, where her wits had finally run out and she'd paid for it. Dearly. The humiliation he'd given her was not something she could easily forgive him. Part of this treasure was hers. But the greatest treasure was to drop him on his knees, to lower him the way she knew she could. She could not forgive him for hanging her over the side of the ship, bleeding, screaming as the sharks breached in their attempts to reach her. Not all of the scars she had were physical. In fact, few of them were. And something inside her had snapped, standing on that auction block in a worthless white shift, branded and belittled and watching as the man she had simultaneously hated and desired walked the other way. Something so great and so final that she had blacked out with the strength of it.

How do you like it?

This blackness and permanent ache of her heart was something she knew would never be fully fixed. Some scars don't show, and even fewer fully heal. She would see _Captain_ Jonathan Brady down on his knees, begging, for what she didn't know. Her brain was so wrapped around the image of him doing so that she could barely get her mind around it.

But the sea air…

Salt and sweat and blood. Life and death. These were stitched into every thread of the sails, hewn in every timber of the hull, forged in every link of the chains, the barrels of the guns, the locks of the brig. This was the sea, and a pirates ship, and she was lost to this life until it claimed her, so she had learned to love it. She was too far gone for polite society, too homely for courting, too independent for motherhood. She was lost to this world until it claimed her. And right now, that suited her just fine.

But Jack… she could behave civilly and human in his presence. It was a front she'd owned for years, how hard could it be to keep it? Never mind the cracks and chips in the wall around her emotions he was striking so readily. She could fix those. She could make those walls thicker. After all, she had five years to back her up, and what did he have? Two days? He was nothing particularly special, no more so than she was, or Jonathan had been. This was for her. Maybe Jack… Captain Sparrow wanted a boat that could cross the Atlantic and reach the Caribbean. Probably so. But she wanted a small, fast ship, low and lean and untouchable, and she'd slaughter all those who dared interrupt her imperfect peace. She was already alone, why should she not complete the cycle? She could right now, and plunge into the deep blue, shark- infested deathbed of the Strait of Gibraltar… 

No. There were things left to do. Besides, Jack…

She shook her head, mentally screaming the incomplete thought out of her system. 

No. No! No no no no NO! Never! Nothing! No one…


	11. Lunch

It was the first meal she'd ever had with the entire crew. Her morning shift was up, and she relished the reasonably fresh bread and stew- it was surprisingly good, and thick, if salty. She knew that, for the sake of peace, she should have bolted the meal and made a run for it, but she was nowhere near weak, nor cowardly, and was fully prepared to force the crew to get used to her presence. And the barrel of her pistol, if need be. She was no child, anymore. And she did not have to fuck them on a repeated basis. This helped her chances immensely.

She ignored the sniggering of a group of the crew on the side of the room opposite her, even though one was jamming his thumb roughly in her direction, because she refused to be paranoid or to make an ass out of herself. She would not pick fights, but she wouldn't be insulted, either. There was a very fine line. She took another swig of the water in her flask, far better than even the finest rum. Not that she disliked the pirate's drink of choice, but there was nothing she particularly enjoyed about losing control of herself, and rum would do that, eventually. She'd always considered herself a little above the drunkards, but maybe it was because she knew the ultimatum behind what they did, that her vision was peripheral, and she could see how their niche in the world fit. All they saw was the reason why. She saw the how. 

"… can't blame the Cap'n for bringin' her on board, though you'd think he'd share…"

Okay, enough.

She stood, calmly, and put her plates away, nodding to the cook, who grinned back at her, having been hearing the remarks made far better than she, and knowing that glint in any man's eye, and now, in any woman's.

"Share what, praytell?" Cal suddenly found his throat being caressed by something very sharp, and very cold. He had, at least, the sense not to say anything.

She shoved him around on the bench. "Your darling captain is not equipped in such a way that he gets anything to share. But if you wanted some, you could've asked." She took the knife from his throat, enjoying every minute of this. 

"Well, then" there was a mischievous glint in Cal's eyes, "why don't you share?"

She caught him, hard, across the cheek, with the flat of the dagger, but she angled it a little too much, and it drew blood where it drug across his cheekbone.

"You'll pay for that, bitch," he snarled, rising from the floor. 

She flipped the knife and caught the handle, shoving it back into her boot. She held out her arms, opening herself to any attack he had, her eyes darting back and forth for any kind of attack.

"Bitch yourself," she snarled. "Bring it."


	12. Whose Head Shall Blow?

"Cap'n! Cap'n!" We need you in the galley! It's urgent!"

"Shite," Jack snarled as he threw a loop of rope over the helm and followed Joshua, his second mate, don the steps toward the door.

Josh was smacked in the face as the door flew open, and Alinnya slammed it shut behind her, jamming it shut with her dagger. Jack stood to the side, not entirely sure what to do, as she grabbed Josh's pistol, ducking a pair of shots fired through the door, and stood in front of it, sword sheathed, a loaded pistol in each hand. She cocked one, and aimed it at the door, directly where a man's head would be, and shot. Sudden silence from behind the door, but she didn't waste a moment in reloading. As soon as they had started on the door again, she was already aiming.

"Please do not kill off the entire crew, love, as I need them to sail the ship." He leaned back against the railing, amused. He held the smile, even when she stared him down. Her eyes froze him more efficiently than a dip in Davy Jones' Locker. This was no imagined insult, escalated with too much rum. This was the cold- blooded assassination of his crew. She cocked the pistol and resettled her aim, holding that pose, and he held silence in respect of the woman he had armed.

They finally slammed the door open, and Cal raced straight into the gun barrel, challenging her, with dried blood covering one cheek. The other crewmen made a ring around them, enjoying the sport. She held the gun level with his mouth, her eyes cold and unwavering.

As much as he was enjoying the spectacle, enough was enough. Jack pushed through his crew, until he stood reasonably close to the two combatants.

"You don't want to be doing that, love," he took a step forward, stopping as he found himself facing the barrel of the other pistol, her eyes still locked with Cal's. Her aim was flawless.

"You're right," she smirked, turning her head to face him. "I don't."

She lowered the pistol, and he relaxed visibly, until he realized that she was aiming directly at his groin. Jack rolled his eyes, thinking as quickly as he knew how.

"Now that's just stupid, love. Shoot him in the balls. If you shoot me, that means you're going to have to go to the crew to get your pleasure. And I doubt you'll enjoy them as much as you enjoy me." The crews' jeering rang in her ears.

"For someone who doesn't do anything, you make a hellova lot of promises," she snarled. The crew turned to their captain, waiting for a response.

"What happened?" Jack was afraid to taunt her any more. Her aim was something he did not want to play games with.

"Cal's makin' jeers about her, Cap'n, and she heard him. Didn't take too kindly to it," one of the crewmen spoke up.

Jack sighed. He'd known the explosion was coming, but defusing it was going to be a shot in hell. He'd known Cal wanted the first mate's slot, and could not have convinced him of the usefulness of the girl had he tried. Josh had understood, seeing things well the way Jack did, and had not caused problems.

"What gives you the right to bring your whores on board, if we can't, Captain?" Cal almost spat the title.

"Because she knows the locations of all Jonathan Brady's loot. Or so she claims, and that's where she's leading us. If I had to marry the whore to get my hands on that, so I would. If she leads us there, and there is no treasure, then you can have your bloody way with her. I care not. But I'll tell ya, mate, and listen well, for anyone here will tell ya the same. If your mouth gets between me and my gold, I'll have to shut it for ya. Permanently." With that, he clasped one hand around Alinnya's wrist, gently pulling away the pistol aimed at his groin. "Back to work, you scallywags!" he roared to the crew, and they scattered to the seven winds. His eyes locked with Cal's. "Go below, and cool off. Come with me, lass."

Still holding her wrist, he pulled her into the captain's quarters, shutting the door behind him, trying to force himself to relax. It didn't work. "Do you mind," he turned, staring at her back, "telling me what the _bloody hell_ has gotten into you?!" it ended as a roar. If she was affected at all by his display of temper, she didn't show it. 

"I'm not lying to you. You needn't worry your pretty head over what happens to me." Her voice was quiet, her eyes focused on the wake of the ship through the glass.

"Can you keep control of your temper that well?" he sighed, sitting down.

"I needed to make a point. It won't happen again."

"No, it won't, love. I haven't the patience." He sat back, cursing his luck. "For what it's worth, I know how Brady runs that ship."

Wrong thing to say. He watched as her body tensed in the sunlight. "I bought you, love, that doesn't mean I own you. That's how I like it." He smiled at the thought, though hurrying to correct his error. "And I have no intentions of treating you anything the same. You have to come to terms with that though, love. I'm not going to throw you overboard unless I have to. Do me the same favor."

She turned to face him, her face a mask for all the emotions behind it. Looking in her eyes, he found himself flashing back to those moments in his cabin this morning.

_Is that what it's supposed to be like?_

"I can't face your demons for you, girl." His voice was soft. "You have to do that alone."

"That's the problem," she replied. "I don't know how."


	13. The Lesson Plan

[A/N- Kenshin, this chapter is for you, considering you're the only person reviewing it anymore. But that's okay, we can see Alinnya and Jack through sex, sweat, lunacy and loot all by ourselves. Right? Right!]

"No, no, no, no!" They stopped mid- deck, Alinnya's sword just brushing at the curve of Josh's neck. She spun it away in one hand, her fingers twisting elegantly over the hilt as she stepped back. "It's like this."

She spun then, one sword under, the other over, slicing in neat circles of parry and thrust. She stopped, reading his face for an understanding. There wasn't one.

"Set the left one down," she sighed, tossing the extra sword over to the side, and gesturing for him to do the same. "Now, pull that move on me, single sword."

He rushed her, slashing, but missed his mark completely and she sidestepped him quickly, her eyebrows raised in concern. Jack, holding the helm, laughed heartily. They'd been two weeks at sea, and after the first incident, the crew had largely left her alone, and her lessons with Josh had been a helpful deterrent. Josh was a marvelous seaman, true, but he barely knew which end of a gun to shoot from, and his swordsmanship was shoddy at best. Not that Jack could blame the lad- for all his fifteen years, he was marvelous at what he did. That's why he was second mate. Though after the first lesson he'd wondered how long Alinnya's patience would last.

"It's in the wrist, mate," he called across the deck. "Quit flailing your arms so."

"Why don't you try it, then?" Josh shot, frustrated.

"Because I," Jack looped the helm and walked toward the pair, "am already quite versed. Though maybe a demonstration is in order."

He and Alinnya locked eyes for a moment, as she swished the cutlass in lazy circles by her side. To say things had been cold between them was an understatement. She came to bed late every night, and rose early every morning, taking shifts purposely to be out of his hair and out of his way. They hadn't spoken really, since the incident, and his only proof she was sharing no one else's bed was in that he felt her come and go every night. Why this state of affairs bothered him so, he wasn't sure.

He stepped back, unsheathing his own sword and holding it out in guard. She responded, with a delicate clack of metal to metal. He swiped, she parried, though catching a little too close to the hilt for his tastes. He pulled down, and she spun her arm, his thrust to jar her completely worthless.  
"Nice trick," he commented, and she didn't respond, slinging the blade in his direction. He moved to parry, but she was already gone, and the niceties were over.

They spun around, left and right, feet changing with the air of excessive practice, and blades slinging with an air of improvisation. She kept flinging tricks and tidbits his way, and he kept meeting them, sometimes barely. Finally, comfortable with her style, he threw her a trick of his own.

She dropped to her back as the sword slung hard, a blow that she could not have parried to save her soul. She used a foot to spin herself around, parrying the downward blow he sent her way, forced to brace the flat of the blade with her arm. He moved to stab, and she rolled, swiping at his feet, which caught him just enough off balance to allow her back to her feet. They continued, and continued, for a good twenty minutes or so, until Jack was sweating and she was beginning to wear down. She didn't parry half as much as she dodged. Their swords caught, and they pushed against each other, their noses a breath and a sliver of steel away from each other.

"Any more tricks up your sleeve, love?" he smiled at her as she stared him down, breathing hard. He used his wrist to pull their swords down, kissing her demandingly on the mouth before letting go, smiling idiotically. "There's mine."

She dropped the sword and in one fluid motion, smacked him hard across the cheek, sending him reeling. "I win," she gasped, choking on her laughter. He tackled her, pinning her to the deck, and did a far more thorough job of kissing her. Josh raised his eyebrows. My, what a lesson he was getting!


	14. Home

[A/N- oh, I love you people! And I loved writing that chapter, too. SapphireAngel, you're allowed to check that often, I do my best to update at least once a day, but unfortunately, I can only upload what I write so often, and work is a damn good deterrent. And Janni-chan, yes. It was on the quiz. I'm jumping ahead a bit in this chapter, but then, I want to keep things interesting, naturally. Here we go!]

Bangale. The port of kings. Alinnya smiled as the wind buffeted her face in the crow's nest. They'd been in other ports in the past four months, around the horn of Africa and looting the gem trade in the southern cape, but home had never smelled so good. Everywhere the redcoats and their merchant ships were coming and going, headed to Beckenburg, and from there, to India. It was a pirate's town, and a marvelous one. She couldn't stop smiling.

"Land ho," she called down to the deck, shortly before they spotted it, as well. She slid down the rigging with practiced ease, angling to land a few feet away from Captain Sparrow, who was eyeing the port warily.

"Will we be welcome here?" he asked, looking at her with a moderate concern.

"Throw up the French colors," she replied, leaning against the railing. "It's a pirate's town, so long as you don't claim alliance to the British."

"Ah," he laughed. "Hold the helm. We should be there by nightfall." As he left for the hold, to fetch the appropriate flags, his hand caught her waist, lingering as he walked away. She smirked, grabbing the helm and holding it at a steady northeast. True, things had remained easygoing and…. Friendly, between them, but Alinnya still had no idea where they stood on the matter. He had told her to deal with her inner demons, and in a way, she had- she had shoved them to the very back of her mind. That could be counted as dealing with them. She got along with him well enough, yes, he was an excellent lover, but…. She still woke some nights terrified that she was back on board the _Hawk_. Whether he noticed that or not she wasn't sure, and she wasn't about to bring it up. She handed back the helm as Jack climbed the stairs, her eyes still on the horizon.

"Not far from home, is it, love?" he remembered she was from India, but had never asked exactly where. It wasn't a topic she seemed comfortable with.

"It is home," she sighed. "Was. They killed my little brother in the raid. Never heard about my folks." She snorted at the pity she saw in his eyes. "Too afraid to ask. It doesn't matter anymore."

"We can find 'em," he offered, watching her out of the corner of his eye. 

"Nah," she brushed it off lightly. "They don't need to know about me. That might be worse."

He nodded quietly, and they remained in that pose, both watching the port they were sailing into with anxious eyes. A military gunner coasted their way, flags flashing in a request to board.

"Accept," she replied to Jack's questioning glance. "This I can handle."

The French officer stepped stiffly onto the boat, staring directly at Alinnya, and snapped something. She replied in a lilting French drawl, and the two conducted the single most confusing conversation Jack had ever watched. He wasn't sure if they were going to start firing on each other or throw themselves in each other's arms. He stayed put, however, trusting his first mate to get them out of the mess. The officer turned stiffly and marched off to his own ship, and Alinnya turned to look at him, nodding her head in a command to go. He pulled the ship into port, considering the grin that had been on her face. It was somewhere near the most bloodthirsty, and the proudest, he'd seen yet.


	15. You Did WHAT!

[A/N- dear Ms. Sparrow, who goes into such length as to email me on this point, _yes_. I did have a loaded pistol pointed at Johnny Depp's balls. And you have no idea how much fun it was! Oh, and tell me I got Jack right on this one. It felt like I did, but I wasn't sure.]

Alinnya could only raise her eyes in wonder at the singularly most amused Jack Sparrow that ever climbed aboard the _Death Flight_ in all her days there. They'd been in port at Bengale for a little over a day, and she had already taken care of, and was overseeing, the loading and resupplying of the ship. The box under Jack's arm worried her overly much, however.

"Afternoon, love," he swung over the rope to kiss her hard, nearly making her lose her balance. She sighed in mild irritation. She didn't enjoy his- sometimes very- public displays towards her. You could learn to live with anything, though.

"What is it?" she grinned, turning to continue counting the crates being loaded. He held out the box to her.

"You'll have to forgive me, I guessed the sizes."

"What's this?" she opened the box, revealing a _very_ fashionable violet silk dress, with hairpieces, jewelry, shoes, all the trappings of a fine lady. 

"Well, where I come from, love, they call that a dress. I'm told it's all the rage."

"I was aware of that fact, I was inquiring as to the occasion."

"Well, our kindly Governor Davis has invited the French Queen's Lady- in- Waiting, Alice Chantelle, and her escort, Captain Jack Young, to accompany him to a rather formal affair they are hosting this evening. I thought," he sat, biting into an apple he took from one of the crates, "that you should be properly attired."

"Jack-"

"Captain."

"Bastard," she growled. "My French isn't that good."

"You're just stalling. These are the English, love, none of them will speak a word of it."

"You better be damned glad I know anything about the French court," she snarled back, completely infuriated at his calm manner.

"I am," he gave her his most roguish grin, kissing her once more. "It's just a bit of fun, love. What can go wrong?"

"A lot, Jack!" she roared as he walked down the ramp.

"Captain!" he called back to her. "I'll have the carriage here at dusk. Don't be late!"

"Shite," she sighed in defeat as he disappeared on the dock, looking down at the dress in her hands. God, how he'd just added to her workload… what the hell was she going to do with her hair?


	16. The Damned Dress

Jack strutted up the ramp onto his ship, smiling broadly. _His_ ship. He liked the sound of that. It wasn't, granted, but it was certainly close enough for all that. It was an hour till dusk, and he felt like a proper captain, nevermind the name. Clean, groomed, and trimmed, his gold tooth gleaming in the light. He _knew_ he cleaned up nice, and the fresh suit, and a brand new leather captain's hat…. He felt dandy, if that was even a word for a man in his position. It was an hour or so till the carriage would arrive, and he'd have the single sexiest French-speaking bitch in the country on his arm. What could be better? He could only imagine what she'd look like in that dress- that was the entire reason he was early, anyway. She'd need time to get back in it, after all.

She wasn't on deck, so he waltzed his way into the cabin, staring at her, staring at the dress, which was laid out on the bed. Judging by her expression, it was liable to attack any moment.

"Love, don't tell me you can't dress yourself?"

She turned to look at him, grinned expressionlessly, and turned back to the dress. He sighed, and in the most businesslike manner he'd ever done so, yanked the clothing off of her. It took a little effort to get the mass of skirts over her head, and he took a moment to see that none of the lace, nor the expensive silk, creased as he laced it up deftly. The ruffles of the sleeves hid her forearms perfectly; the neckline made her small breasts seem so much more substantial, and the color made her eyes sparkle beautifully. He smiled, finding himself wordless at the rough- hewn lady in his cabin.

"Is it that bad?" she smiled slightly, worried.

"Contrary," he caught her jaw and kissed her hard. "You may never get to the damned ball…"

"Don't tempt me. You got us into this one." She sighed, clasping the necklace around her neck and fingering it nervously.

 "Love, I'm Captain Jack Sparrow. Sa-"

"Savvy." She kissed him hard. "But I'm not. Any questions?"

"Just a little insurance, if you will." He clasped her left hand, and she felt a ring slide over her finger. "I'm takin you to your fiancé in the French Philippines."

"You're not in the French Philippines." The thought was spoken before it was registered.

"True enough, love," his kiss was gentler this time. "But they don't have to know that. Now," he stepped back, eyeing her appraisingly for a moment to long, and grinned at her frustration, offering his arms. "Let us be off, mi'lady."


	17. The Hempen Jig

Alinnya bit her lip, looking out the window of the carriage at the grand mansion before her. Jack leaned over beside her, kissing her neck reverently.   
"Beautiful, ain't it love?"   
"What are you going to do when someone recognizes me?"   
"Should they? You've been gone for seven years, love. To them, you're dead."   
"Let us hope," she looked at him, biting her lip.   
"I need you to trust me, love," he settled his chin on her shoulder. "Nothing will happen, and if it does, I'll get you out."   
"I know." She leaned back against him. "Don't do anything stupid."   
"Yes, mi'lady." He stood and opened the door, helping her out of the carriage as she hastily brushed her skirts. She tossed her head and put on the most snobbish air she knew how, and smiled at Jack, who chuckled at her, fixing his hat in place. He offered her his arm, and she took it gracefully, and thus began the one night of the life that Alinnya should have lived.   
***   
Dinner went well enough. Jack sat next to her, and she was quiet, after a few attempts at conversation in rather animated French. She broke in coarse and very broken English, and shortly after, though still civil and willing to listen to her jabber, it was quite clear that no one understood her, and she silenced herself to eat, Jack following her lead with the intricate silverware. She'd decided that she almost enjoyed the life she was supposed to be living, though she kept an eye out lower down the table for anyone who might recognize her. She had always been told she looked quite like her father, and would hate for the similarity to be remarked on, and their ruse discovered. Nevertheless, Jack acted the part well, escorting her everywhere within the manor, opening doors, pulling out chairs, taking her coat, and attempting to speak with her in a very broken French. She knew he was enjoying himself immensely from the look in his eyes. It was only commented once how inseparable the two seemed, and he brushed it off easily. She _was_ his charge, after all. 

That was how she found herself standing against the wall in the grand ballroom, watching Jack waltz the ladies of the court around the room. She smiled faintly, playing with the ring on her finger, as she watched. They were enthralled with his charm, his boldness. And she could not blame them. He stood out in the room like a blood red rose in a sea of daisies. Exotic, erotic, and ever dangerous. His eyes caught hers as the dance ended, and he slid over to her place on the wall, extending his hand. 

"It seems, mi'lady, that I shall have to request this dance, if I may."

"You may," she replied, her voice little more than a whisper. He took her hand, kissing her wrist right over the branding. He led her onto the dance floor, bringing one hand around her waist as the other clasped hers firmly. She looked in his eyes as the music started- something a little faster than a waltz. He gave her a dashing smile, and away they went. He was pleasantly surprised at her ability to keep up with him, step for step. When the music stopped, he stepped back, kissing her hand, the smile in his eyes promising more. Later.

***

"Time to go, love," she felt jack grab her by the arm and drag her toward the door.

"What happened?" she asked, trotting beside him as quickly as she could, down the street.

"Someone informed the East India Trading Company that we weren't… exactly who we were, savvy? They came through the back door. We left through the front."

"I need to get out of this damned dress," she hissed, looking around the empty street.

"Well love, when you put it that way-" he smiled as she turned to face him, stopping mid- sentence as she realized he was kidding. "You do look ravishing."

"Good enough to eat?" she smiled back.

"To relish," he lilted, eyebrows rising suggestively.

"Hold on," she stepped inside a small building, arguing with someone in terse French. Jack watched the street, warily. She'd never admit it to her, but that had been far to close a scrape for comfort. He didn't know how close they still were.

Wait- now he did."

"Alinnya, love, hurry," he snarled through the door, ducking into the darkness of the doorway as close as he could, praying the redcoats would just claim the street was deserted. He felt her breath on his neck as she kept the doorway closed behind him. 

"We'll have to bolt for it," she breathed.

"Aye," he whispered back. "Keep to the code."

"Which code?" her snarl was almost inaudible. "I'm writing my own code, Captain, thank you very much."

"Go," he whispered to her, racing through the deserted street in the moment where most of the redcoats were arguing. No sense waiting.

But God, his boots had never seemed so loud. 

Alinnya was right behind him. He could hear her breathing right behind him, the redcoats yelling, shot's being fired…

The pain hit his right shoulder like some bat out of Hell, and he stumbled to his knees, crying out with pain. She slid, skidding to a stop and falling as she tried to turn simultaneously, trying to help him back to his feet.

"Go!" he roared, wincing in pain. "One of us love, not both." 

She looked up at the approaching redcoats and back to his eyes. "I'll be back for you," she swore, kissing him roughly, before he shoved her and she bolted. A few shots were fired at her, but she as already gone.

"At least one will dance the hemp jig for us tomorrow morning," Jack heard vaguely behind him, and he smirked in laughter before everything went black.

***

"Wake up. Wake up! WAKE UP!" Alinnya's screams were loud enough to wake the dead, or at least a drunken crew. "Man the ship and get ready to sail. NOW, say I!"

She stumbled back to the captain's quarters, slinging off the borrowed trousers for something that fit infinitely better. She slid a bandana similar to Jack's over her head, and set two cutlasses around her waist, then stopped. She threw a large, plain dress over the shirt and trousers, and a broad cloak over that, stuffing it with two pistols, and the swords, and checked her hair. She walked back out on deck twenty minutes later to find the whole crew staring at her. 

"Get the damn boat ready to sail," she growled, "Or I'll send all of you to see old Hob. And you'll end up with me as a captain. Josh," she called, walking toward the gangplank. 

"What happened?" he asked, tired and nervous.

"East India got him," her face contorted with anger and guilt at the words. "Now listen. Go due south, follow the coast, it's deep pretty close. Past the point, not five miles, at the tail end of the city near the jail, there's a cliff. If we aren't there by dawn, leave. Don't you dare look back."

And with that, she was gone.


	18. Seven Agents of the East India Company

It was dark, and she walked behind them. Eight bloomin redcoats, one of them behind a stumbling, very pale Jack, the rest pushing the way through the busy nighttime streets. The one thing that the British never had understood about the eastern world was how they loved the night. And she agreed. She strode purposely, carefully, close behind the group, pulling a dagger out of her waistband. She'd given up on the dress, and the civilians eyed her bristling weaponry with a mixture of respect and concern. She sped up, till she was inches behind the last redcoat, and slung, punching the dagger full into his throat. She looked up worriedly, but the others had not heard a thing and continued marching. She dodged around him, half holding Jack to stop him from falling, and pulled him into an alley.   
"Can you walk on your own?" she held is chin, forcing him to look in her eyes. He nodded, barely.   
"I told ya to leave, lass."   
"Yeah, well, you can kick my ass for it later. Right now we have to get to the ship."   
She pulled the bandana off his head, playing with his hair for a moment till it fell around his face, plucked the hat off his head and put it on her own, placing the cutlass and the pistol both around his waist, while he looked on, curious. She threw her cloak over his shoulders, pulling the hood over his head, as she pulled her arms through his coat.   
"What're you thinking, lass?"   
She bit her lip and looked at him. "Walk down this street, for a little less than a mile, and you'll come to a dirt road, mi'lady." She stressed the title, and it dawned on him what she was doing. "Right next to it, there's a cliff overlooking the sea. At some point tonight, the Death Flight will be in that harbor. Get on the ship, whatever happens. Don't wait."   
"And what about you?"   
"Love, I'm Captain Jack Sparrow," she grinned, grabbing the gutter railing and bracing herself to climb up the wall. "Savvy?"

"Love, love, _wait_ love," he grabbed her sleeve, stopping her. "They're going to kill ya."

"Probably," she grinned. "Get to your ship, captain. It sails at dawn."

With that, she was gone.

***

Alinnya watched, crouched on the roof, as Jack walked through the crowded street. The light of the torches shone in her eyes, making them glitter in the shadows, much like a tiger. She turned to see the redcoats racing back toward her. Toward Jack. She pulled the first pistol out, cocking it, and loosed the bag of powder and shot as well. She didn't have the weaponry to do battle with them, nor their reinforcements, but a little distraction…

She smiled at the sight of two large bulls being lead through the street by a small farmboy, headed toward the military men. She grinned even wider, and took aim.

The shot came out of nowhere, startling the redcoats, and the bulls stampeding toward them made the situation even worse. But the only thing Alinnya regretted was the shout that rose up- "There he is! The pirate!" She picked up the pace of her run, leaping across alleyways, musket shots hot on her heels.

***

Jack stumbled to the cliff edge, looking down. There she was. He felt as though he could cry- that ship had never looked so good! 

"Jump!" he heard her roar behind him, and shots being fired. He could barely think before her hand was on his back, pushing him over the precipice toward the grey night water. As they fell, he could hear the shots whizzing by them, and more from Alinnya, firing back while falling. Then another searing fire was in his shoulder, the second in twelve hours, and he bellowed in pain as he hit the water.

***

It took a good amount of thrashing, but Alinnya made it into the surface, gasping for breath, not even thinking about dodging the fire hailing down on her like rain. She was relieved to hear the _Flight_'s guns boom, causing her assault to cease momentarily. But where was Jack? There. She grabbed his arm in the water and pulled his arm out, noticing vaguely the blood coming from his shirt. He was unconscious, or something damned close. She put as much pressure on his chest as she could, hoping it could help in avoiding sharks, and pushed him to the _Flight_, grabbing the rope that was thrown toward them. They were dragged to the ship amazingly quick. Just before they were going to be hauled up on deck, she noticed the dorsal fin. Undeterred by the bullets or the guns, the shark smelled blood, and planned to get it. Blood. Jack's blood. Alinnya snapped, and just as the dorsal fin was almost in range, she used the rope as leverage and slammed both feet toward the intruder, feeling the leather of her boots connect with a bone-shattering intensity as they were pulled out of the water. She held on, not just for her own life, but his, as they were pulled on board, and the crew backed away from their pale, deathly captain and a bedraggled first mate. She tore his shirt off, gazing in shock at the two holes near his chest, one slightly scabbed and even a little infected, the other raw and oozing blood. 

"Rum," her voice was mechanic. "Now!" she screamed at the immobile crew. "Set sail. Head west, north, wherever. Get us out of this cove. The Brits'll be here any minute. You and you," she pointed at two random pirates, "get him in the captain's quarters. Get him out of those clothes. You," she stared the galleyboy dead in the eyes. "I need the strongest alcohol we have. I need thread, a needle, clean towels, and clean hot water. Go." She looked down at Jack, almost forgetting the bustling activity on deck as her hand sought out his. "Don't you die on me yet," she whispered, her face in a grimace to hold back her tears. She nodded to the men she'd instructed to carry him, and they picked him up gently and carried him away.

She noticed, though, as they were walking past her, the shark tooth embedded in Jack's boot.

It's not every day Alinnya Sheridan was nauseous.

***

Author's Chronicle

Oh, I love you all. All these reviews, all good ones. I don't know how to respond, so I shall respond to each of you!

Kitty-Kat26- my first reviewer, I love you dearly, and thank you so much for the praise. I wasn't sure I was going to continue this until you told me you liked it!

Angelkeety- Really? I never would have guessed I'm a descriptive writer. Everyone actually tells me otherwise.

XtineSparrowDepp- I don't know what to say! I'm on your favorites list? I couldn't ask for higher praise. 

Pirate'sRedWinter- Thank you! I love your name, may I inquire as to the meaning?

Ani Sparrow- I love the fact that you read it at all, much less that you like it! To be reviewed by a writer you admire is high praise, indeed! To me anyway. *grin* And writing the backstories to all the things that happens to Jack is one of my favorite parts- I'm glad someone enjoys reading them! 

Mysticknight13- I love the name to. It just fits. And can't you just hear Johnny Depp *saying* it? *swoon* I'm glad you've liked it!

Kaya- Thanks!

Ang- Wow! Cool coincidence! They end up in Singapore eventually, but- *clamps mouth*  I better not give away anymore plot!

MsBrooklyn- I was trying to get some foreshadowing in there- it's awesome you picked up on it!

Sereture- I don't know if there is anything really original. Just many different ways of doing the same thing- stick ourselves in a daydream with Jack Sparrow! Some like to do it in a you-jack mode, some of us like to do it through someone else's perspective. Some people just want to read a good story. I just want to write one, and I'm proud of my reviews! As few, or many, as they may be. As for how Alinnya met Jack… I thought I made that relatively clear at the beginning, but I planned on putting more into it anyway. Be patient. *wink*

Kenshin13- you are the single most steadfast reviewer I've had on this story. I don't know how to thank you enough. I really don't. I catch myself checking my reviews just to see if you've read it yet!

Sapphireangel315- yes, it is obsession, love, but I do it too, so I won't say anything. *wink* That's great praise, and I shall do my damndest not to let you down!

Janni-chan1- yes, there was a quiz, no he didn't take notes. Quite frankly, he failed it, and now he's gotta take the lesson over! 

Wicklowe- thank you! I've read so many Mary Sue fics myself, and it's hard to get past them, I write original character relationships, and I get that called on me a lot, and for someone to assure me the complete opposite- I'm touched. Honestly.

Nefarious Coda- well, thank you. You tip your hat, I bow. I am incredibly grateful.

Beringae- just wait. They all keep saying Alinnya is a mystery woman, and they're right. You don't know the half of her yet. Not even Jack does. He thinks he does, but we all know Jack Sparrow- Captain Jack Sparrow. Beautiful and distant is a marvelous way to put it. Can I borrow that?

Just a Johnny fan- you go and give me a paragraph on my characterization of Jack and the background of Alinnya, two thinks I put an INCREDIBLE amount of work into. A paragraph, a paragraph, of real, honest-to-god praise on two things I busted my ass trying to get right. *bows* I am not worthy. 

I am trying to write longer chapters, everyone, believe me, but it's between that and more updates. It all works out almost the same. Thank you!

Oh, and for the record, my work on Ceylon was based on a 1688 British map that I found online. Bengale really was a city back then, though I may've mistook the countries and topography to suit my uses. I have the map downloaded, if you'd like the reference, and I'll email it to you.


	19. Stitches

Alinnya walked as steadily as she could down the steps and into the captain's quarters, where Jack was in the bunk, under the sheets, and stared at the two holes within his chest, literally within inches of each other. Any lower and either would have killed him. The men looked at her, the galleyboy and Josh both looking dangerously pale, Cal and… Evans, wasn't it? looking grim.   
"Go man the helm, get back to work," she sighed. "I can do this myself."   
They all left, save Josh.   
"I told you to leave," she sighed, grabbing a cloth and the bottle of whiskey.   
"Are you proposing to stitch up yourself?" he asked, quietly. She looked down, sure enough, the side of her wrist was sliced open, fat and skin separated to show the muscle rippling underneath. It had stopped bleeding, she didn't even feel it, it was quite fascinating, really…   
"Let me finish him," she sighed, rolling Jack over. One bullet had gone in right over his shoulder blade, and angled out cleanly. The other one was still in there. She spilled the whiskey over her hand and around the wound, looking at him for a moment.   
"This'll hurt love," she whispered, and she grabbed his good hand in her own, using it for balance, as she kissed him hard, pushing her fingers into the first would, searching for a piece of metal.   
He jerked awake, screaming into her mouth, and though part of him was thankful that she was thinking of his pride, the rest of him wanted to shove her off the plank. He passed out again, far too quickly to do a damn thing about it.   
She could feel the shot in his shoulder, her fingers were brushing right against it, and she knew it hurt like hell, but she just couldn't… there. It came out with a sickening pop, and   
She stared at the ball for a moment before grabbing a rag, dumping it in the whiskey and coating the now- bleeding wound with it, leaning into it with her whole body, her wrist dripping blood onto the cloth, mingling with his. Josh watched, not sure what to do, and learning the hard way, as she grabbed the needle and thread, washing the needle in the hot water, cleaning off the gaping holes, threading the needle, dumping the whole thing through another load of whisky, then doing her best the sew the flesh shut, pulling tightly as she continued, and going over twice, to hold it. Jack flinched, but not much else. She did the same with the second wound, then the one on the back, sweating with the effort while she wrapped bandages around his chest. She wiped his hair out of his face, a strange look coming over her eyes. She looked at Josh.   
"Can you do that?" her voice was barely a whisper. He nodded.   
"I'll need help."   
"I know," she winced. She poured most of the whiskey down her arm, hissing in pain as she did so, and cleaned it off with the last towel, prepping the needle and thread. She held out her arm to him. "Get as deep as you can."   
Josh took a deep breath, willing himself not to panic, or do anything stupid, and jabbed the needle at the closest point to her wrist. Her knuckles on both hands cracked, she gripped the table so hard, and she let out a small scream from the pain, but nodded, urging him to finish. She made it halfway through, crying with the pain and her own attempts to remain intelligible through the ordeal, before she passed out. Josh tied up the stitches as best he knew, and bandaged them, picking up his first mate and putting her in the bed beside his captain, not trusting himself to carry her any farther. He knew she wouldn't mind.   
With that, he went back on deck, almost terrified at the prospect of sailing the ship alone.


	20. Morning Sickness

_She had her hands tied behind her back, being lead by her hair onto the platform, stumbling over the ill-fitting slip of a dress that did nothing to hide her endowments from the view of the auctioneers. She glowered like a caged tiger at the men catcalling her. The auction master slung her to her knees, and she barely caught herself from falling face first on the splintered wood. Her bare feet were already bleeding, and her wrists would be soon, the way the ropes ground against them. He watched, intrigued, as she snarled insults at the leering men up front. Feral. It was the only way he could describe her, and it held a certain appeal to a man who had never been tested in the art of seduction. The woman behind this was far more to his tastes, with a more voluptuous figure, but… __  
He walked up to the block, pulling out his moneybag, and whispered to the auctioneer, pulling a single piece of gold out for the man's examination. She spat, hitting him straight in the eye. He turned to face the hellcat he was buying.   
"I will not be your whore," she snarled.   
"Nay," speaking so softly, his voice shouldn't have reached her ears as loudly as it did. Their eyes met briefly. "You won't."   
She didn't have time to respond as the slave driver slammed her into one of the thick posts, causing her to stagger and fall, unmoving, on the platform. He jumped up and hooked the man hard across the face, glaring the much taller man down.   
"Don't touch my property," he hissed, picking her up and carrying her away._   
***   
The vision was all but real in his head, a wonderful dream. In his moment of semi- consciousness he shifted, tightening his arm around her, nuzzling into her neck. There was a distant pain, like a fire in his shoulder, but it was very distant, and very surreal.   
But this was real, and he buried his face deeper into her shoulders, breathing deeply. She smelled of salt, and a fresh breeze, and something subtly, undeniably, feminine. She sighed, rolling over to snuggle into his chest, and he winced as her hand brushed against his shoulder. He opened his eyes, the throbbing pain hitting him like a sledgehammer. He turned his head to look at the offending muscle. It was reasonably well bandaged, but he removed them without much difficulty, and nodded his approval at the work that had been done. The stitches were neat, and very even. Very clean, if a little deeper than necessary. He moved his arm carefully, testing the limitations of the black thread, and brushed a stray hair out of her face, raising an eyebrow at the slight fever he felt there. Her breath was a little raspy, as well, and now that he paid attention, she still had on the same clothes she had worn to rescue him. He sat up, pushing the covers off himself, and she shivered slightly in the light breeze. He made his way out of the bunk carefully, finding a fresh pair of trousers and slipping them on, wrapping himself some fresh bandages while he was up. His shoulder hurt like hell, which meant he couldn't use his right arm, to an extent, but other than that, he was fine. He walked back over to the bed, sitting and playing with her hair absently. The bandage around her left wrist was coming loose, and he finished unraveling it, curious as to what kind of scrape she'd gotten into and planning on changing it for her. The sight that met his eyes worried him. It was the single worst job of stitching he'd ever seen, and one of the simplest applications. They were jagged, loose and shallow- there were points where he could see the thread through the skin. The skin was inflamed, pulling against the strands, and redder than the severed flesh inside of it, oozing pus and obviously quite sore. He grabbed a flask and dabbed some of the rum onto the wound, forcing some between the stitches there. She sobbed in pain, her face in his side, and he wrapped a fresh bandage around it, forcing her face to meet his own.   
"On the positive side," he grinned at her, "that went right through your slave branding. Congratulations. You are now a free woman."   
"Ha ha," she winced as the bed moved, causing spots to fly in front of her eyes and a wave of nausea to sweep over her.

"Sleep, love," he kissed her gently. "I'll be back."

With that, he walked out of the quarters, gliding with practiced ease onto the deck, where the crew stared at his half- naked form, or more correctly, the two holes in his chest.

"Mangy dogs! Get back to work before I throw you all over the side!" he barked, and they automatically went back to their duties. Josh walked up to him, a concerned look on his face.

"And don't you dare be telling me I shouldn't be up, son," he sighed, running his hands over the wood of the helm. "Where are we takin' this sou'easterly?"

"I was thinking Singapore, captain."

"Sounds fine by me. See to it that my first mate is roaring drunk by nightfall. I'll not have her screaming while I put those stitches back in."

"Were they that bad, sir?"

"Lad," he smiled slightly, swaying with the rhythm of the ship, "she'll not make it halfway to Singapore if we don't. And I still don't know where that hoard is."

"That's all you desire from her, isn't it?"

"Careful lad," he didn't dare look him in the eyes. "Never step between a pirate and his treasure- whatever form that treasure may take."


	21. The Shaman and the Con Artist

[A/N- I update as fast as I do for fear of losing my grip of Jack's character, as I am no longer in possession of my movie. Thank you all for actually thinking I'm good at it. I have Jack down to a T? This story couldn't get any better? I'm almost afraid to update for fear someone won't like it! I wish I could do a sequel…]

Jack checked his compass for the umpteenth time, praying for the strong wind behind him to go just a _little_ faster. He had to make it to Singapore- to a healer, a shaman, a doctor, _anyone_ who could heal Alinnya without sawing her bloody arm off. He'd made the stitches as deep as he could, backstitching for strength, and losing two jugs of rum over that wrist- not that it had helped any. The stitches had snapped from the swelling, her arm was turning greenish grey, and he'd been forced to wrap bandages around it, tourniquet style, at least twice a day. She'd long since stopped screaming. She'd merely lean into his shoulder, whimpering, tears streaming down her cheeks. It was pathetic. And he hated to see her that way.

"Land ho!' the breeze carried the call from the rigging, and Jack could have almost cried in relief.

***

"Is there anything else ya be needin', good sir?" the elderly man was a con artist in the greatest right, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing in this world that Jack enjoyed so much as scamming a good con artist.

"Yes, I'll be needin' directions to the finest doctor you have in this here harbor," he smiled down at the wizened old man, his eyes glinting wickedly.

"Really, why sir, I am quite experienced-"

"I said directions, man, not the doctor himself."

The old man stopped, looking up at the pistol in his face. "It'd cost ya a shilling, sir."

"I'm sorry," Jack smiled slightly, cocking the pistol. "I'm afraid this is the only currency I have."

"It'll do, it'll do," the old man squeaked, his voice rising to eunuch- like levels. "What would ya be needin?"

"Josh, see to it this man grows roots on the deck while I go fetch our… indisposed," he grinned, handing the pistol to his second mate. "Careful. Shoot him if he breathes too loudly."

"But, captain…"

"Peas in a pot, son," Jack replied, nodding to the wide- eyed old man. "There're always more. You needn't even bother to look."

He headed down the stairs, stopping in the doorway to look at her, she was asleep- somewhat peacefully, for once- and he was hesitant to wake her. Ever since that first morning, he had relished her in her sleep, the way her body relaxed and she could sometimes, almost smile. She looked so much younger, and so much more beautiful to him, despite the high color in her cheeks and sweat on her face from the fever. Something inside him jerked involuntarily at the thought of returning to this ship without her, and he knew the he would never sail a ship without her again, if only in spirit. He sighed, walking over to the bunk, and began to scoop her in his arms. She groaned in protest and pain, trying to pull away.

"Love, love," he rolled her over to look at him. "We're in port, and I need to get you to a doctor."

"No," it was a half-squeal of sickness and fear. 

"I swear on my honor you'll keep that arm, and your life," he kissed her gently. "Come on, love. Do this for me, and I swear to you I'll buy you the finest string of pearls in port before we go."

"What would I do with pearls?" she laughed weakly.

"I understand most women wear them," he smiled, carrying her wedding style onto the ship, and she dozed off again in his arms. He grinned at the hyperventilating old man on the deck, taking the gun from Josh and hiding it well under Alinnya's knees.

"Now," he smiled. "Take us to that healer. And no tricks. I promise I won't miss. Well, maybe your head. But I certainly couldn't miss your belly."

The man squeaked again, gripping his pudgy middle, and led Jack off the gangplank, off the dock, and into town. Josh followed, uneasily.

***

It was a run-down part of the town, but he understood the French above the door well enough to know he had been led to a 'house of ancient remedies.' It sounded like a sham, but he had to take a chance. He nodded to the old man, walking up to the door, to knock, but then he heard the shot. He stiffened, waiting for the feeling of cold metal ripping through his still-sore shoulder, but it never came. He turned slowly, to see Josh with the still smoking pistol aimed at the man, a knife still clenched in his fist. No one on the street had stopped to make comment.

"You have done us a great service," Jack turned to see the Filipino in the doorway, dark skinned and grey- haired, with a ring through the center of his nose and hair plated in messy dreadlocks.

"Now kindly return the favor," Jack replied, looking up at the man.

"Come in," he replied, pushing the door farther open to permit both men. The shop smelled faintly of something herbal, spicy and even reassuring. Maybe it was the curry rice on the wood stove. It certainly smelled like food. There was a single cot, a long table, and a few comfortable armchairs that must have once been the height of style, then been stained, ripped, restuffed, and resewed to fit their owner's tastes. The walls were surprisingly bare, save for drying herbs hanging from the ceiling rafters. Uncertain, he set his charge on the table, standing next to her the entire time. The man shut the door behind him, walking over to the girl, and, looking at Jack for permission, took the bandaged arm in his own, unraveling the shredded linen a piece at a time, and cringing at the dried blood and gunk that stuck the pieces together. Jack frowned. He'd just changed that damn thing. It got to the point where the shaman poured a bowl of water, and began washing the rags off as gently as he could, though she still squirmed on occasion.

"How long ago did this happen?" the man asked, peeling another wrapping off the practically mummified arm. 

"Six days," Jack replied. "The best I understand, she got caught on the sharp side of a bayonet." He rubbed his shoulder absently.

"Not a good place for a pirate," the man smiled lightly. "But you already knew that. How's the shoulder."

"I need to take out the stitches," Jack raised an eyebrow in concern, but let it go. "A little infected, but she does far better stitches than I ever have."

The healer looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. "Let's see."

Jack sighed," pulling over the neck of the shirt to expose the itchy wounds. The healer nodded, pulling the last bandage off her wrist, an eyebrow rising. He looked back at Jack. "You did the first set of stitches?"

"I did, sir," Josh spoke up from the doorway.

"She was awake, wasn't she?"

"Aye. I didn't know how. She told me."

"Dear girl," he brushed her hair back from her forehead. "So you did the second set, Captain?"

"I did," Jack replied.

"They were well done. Just too late." He stood, grabbing a slip of paper and scrawling, in a very neat cursive, a list. He handed it to Jack, folded. "Go get these from the market. As much as you can, and as quickly as you can. Luck's against you. But you have me. And she has you."

A shudder went through Jack as he looked into the man's eyes. It seemed almost like he knew more about Jack than Jack himself did.


	22. The Pain

[A/N- sigh. Jack just feels off in this one. Not that we ever see him really contemplative. But thanks for staying with me, I know I'm going at a breakneck pace, and there will be several other chapters in Singapore.]

Aloe. Tea tree oil. Chamomile. Lemon. Sandalwood. Jack praised his stars he actually recognized the herbs, otherwise he would have been in for a hellova lot of work, and even more money. It took him and Josh an hour to find the best quality, at decent prices, in large amounts, and the shaman nodded, satisfied, as they walked in the door, applying steaming bandages to Alinnya's arm. She whimpered slightly, blinking down at the man, and Jack moved over to the other side of the table, setting his hand on top of her own. She trapped his little finger with her thumb, leaning against his shoulder in exhaustion. After a moment, the shaman removed the bandage, and Jack was almost sick at the amount of greenish puss and blackish blood that were saturated on it. The shaman poured some of the tea tree oil on it, and she hissed lightly, straining her breath.

"It hurts beautiful, and we all know it hurts, and you needn't try to hide that it hurts."

"I had plans for that arm," she growled, her face pillowed on Jack's chest.

"You still do. Give it time."

"Who the hell are you, anyway?"

"Someone who knows too much, Alinnya. Trust me. I'll do you no ill."

"How do you know my name?"

"That's not important."

"You don't know how important that is."

"The wise men are trained to impress. You know that. Now hold still, and don't let her move," his eyes turned to Jack momentarily, then back to Alinnya. "This will hurt as badly as anything has."

She didn't even have a moment to think before he tore the lemon open, crushing its contents and burying the juice and pulp in the open sore. Consequently, there was nothing she could do, save scream, involuntarily struggling against the shaman, holding her arm still, and Jack, who had his arms wrapped around her waist and other arm. Her screams quickly turned into sobs of despair, and Jack, looked around, making sure no one else was paying attention before he rested his head on her shoulder, berating himself for ever accepting an invitation to the damned ball.

***

She was asleep on the floor, arm thoroughly poulticed and bandaged, and Jack just sat next to her, her head on his lap. 

God, he wanted some rum.

"So why'd you buy her?"

"How do you fucking know everything?"

"It's a gift."

"My father sold me, when I was a lad, to a pirate. Never branded, but… I knew what they'd do to her."

"Have done. She's fared worse, I think, than she'd let you know."

"Why does she refuse to let me fix it?"

"Because," the man sat next to him. "She's very aware that things can happen. And she knows you won't harm her, but she also knows you can't always stop it from happening."

"I would."

"Do you really want her to love you? Someone so emotionally hollow cannot feel their emotions with any moderation. They can barely process slivers of what we feel. When you grow tired of her, would you like to break her far more than any man has?"

"I don't know."

"It's a lifetime process. Let her alone. When she heals, she will have a hard enough time trying to rationalize why she went through this for you. Sleep. Tomorrow night I'll expect you to seek some drink, company, and normalcy elsewhere, much as your young friend is."

"Why?" 

"I don't fix things to be broken. You'll decide what you want before I release her into your hands."


	23. Singapore

[A/N- Johnny fan, don't worry. The corset episode is coming into play, very, very soon. Much to the contrary, your review didn't bore me, it tickled me to death! Thank you for thinking so much of my story to write me such dialogue! And Wicklowe, I'm not writing this for me- sorry. I'm writing it for our dearest darling sexy- assed pirate captain, who is, needless to say, very finicky in that I get it right. There's also the small fraction that if I don't get this finished soon, and I have to start on my next ic beforehand, I'll never finish! So I'm going to friggin finish! Do enjoy! Back to the homework for me. Perhaps another chapter while I'm at it.]

Jack downed the entire tankard of rum in one gulp, flagging down the barmaid for another. He was in his most comfortable stage of drunkenness, the wench who'd laid claim to him earlier sprawled across his lap. Yes, this was the life. He leaned down to kiss the woman sloppily. He could have her right there, almost. Back in the corner of the bloody bar, for every man and woman to see. She had a lovely arse, and how the hell did she get those breasts so high? A fleeting thought passed through his mind, but it was gone, and he turned to look behind him, actually expecting to watch that thought fly out the door. But it didn't, and he found himself leaning against the woman, her lips exploring his neck.

"Let's go somewhere a little more… private, shall we?" he slurred. She giggled and took his hand, leading him up the stairs. He shut the door behind him, kissing her soundly. He needed her out of that dress. He needed her in a way he hadn't had her in well over a week. He unlaced the dress with all the speed his drunken fingers possessed, kissing her shoulders, and pushing her on the bed. He struggled his the hard piece of fabric that was underneath the dress, then gave up, pulling out his knife. The whore squealed momentarily, and he held her down, slicing the knot in the fabric and ripping upwards, causing her to gasp at him in shock. He grinned at her, putting away the blade. He then fell on top of her, his hands dragging their leisurely way up her sides, scraping at her breast, then back down, as she wiggled in the flimsy slip she still had on. He dug into the skirt, pushing it up over her knees, and unlacing his trousers, ramming himself into her with probably a little too much force. He kept thrusting, letting his body give in to the necessity, his mind was a million miles away. When he was finished, he took a deep breath, stepping back and adjusting himself back to the respectable, invincible Captain Jack Sparrow. 

"Thank ya, love," he tipped his hat to her, and walked out the door.

He walked down the stairs, back into the bar, and to the barmaid, gripping a tankard on her tray and spilling his pay on it. He gulped down the drink, slamming the empty mug on the nearest table, and walked out of the tavern.

***

_You don't know what it was like, love. And neither did I, at the time. Not that I blame you, understand. It wasn't your fault you stole my heart. At least, to the best of my knowledge, it was never your intention._

_But still. I look down, and there's this woman. And she has black eyes, and dark skin, and black hair, and carries herself like a bloody whore. You know what I mean. And I don't know if it was her eyes, or her perfume, or the feeling of being inside her, but there was something missing in the whole exchange, and when I walked out of the tavern, I wanted to run back to the shaman's and have you help me sort this feeling out. But I wasn't allowed there, and you were unconscious with an arm as wide as the bloody mizenmast. My fault, that one. His words kept ringing through me head- do you really want to break her? he'd asked, and I said I didn't know. But some things require breaking, love, and that shield of yours would be first to go._

_Like I said before, you didn't mean to steal my heart. I don't think._


	24. Dawn

He went through Singapore that night without really experiencing anything. He'd never had so much rum, he's never had so many women all in one night. He'd never been so exhausted, and never had sleep seemed so far away. He stood on the beach, watching a group of eastern warriors moving in slow, choreographed motions with their swords- a strange dance, to be sure. Oddly soothing. He sat, leaning against a small tree, content to let the sun rise during his meditation.

***

"Jack, Jack!" her hissed whisper was accompanied by a hand over his mouth, and her eyes peered into his in the candlelit darkness, her head jerking up at the sound of clanking chains and screams down the hall. She scooted backwards into the darkness at the sound of a volley of approaching soldiers, and Jack continued to feign sleep as they sat to a round of cards in front of his cell.

_"All right, deal, Edward." They sat themselves down comfortably to a game of poker and several glasses of brandy, and Alinnya propped herself on her elbows, hardly daring to move, half exposed and obvious to anyone who happened to look their way. It was an hour before they actually began to show signs of their drunken state. She motioned for Jack to follow her into the sewer pipe, and he did, closing the latch behind them as quietly as possible. He followed her lead as he crawled on his knees and one good elbow toward freedom. She dashed out of the entrance, closing the grate behind him, looking around to make sure no one was on their tails. She took his hand, and started to run toward the street, but he stopped her. _

_"I can't run, lass," he motioned to his shoulder, and she winced at the amount of blood covering his shirt, then jerked at the sound of baying hounds in the distance. "Go, beautiful," he snarled at her._

_"No. I'm not- no," she hissed back, her voice strained._

_"They hang me at dawn." He looked up. "It's not midnight. Surely you can think of something…?"_

_She sighed, looking him in the eyes. In two long strides, she was right in front of him, grabbing the back of his head and kissing him hard. "I'll be fuckin' back," she whispered, trotting toward the street and lifting another huge sewer grate with no ease, then dropping in with a loud clash and a muted yelp. He sighed as the dogs got louder, strolling towards the woods. Whatever happened to his damned Code anyway…?_

***

Jack sighed, opening his eyes from his ruminations. It was morning, and the men had left, and the sun was bright in the Eastern sky. He stood, brushing the sand off his clothes, and shucked off his shirt and hat, meandering waist deep into the ocean. His ocean. His home, his haven, his refuge- before she came along, anyway. He swam along the beach for a little ways, stretching a still healing shoulder, stung by the salt, but the water was enervating, refreshing his exhausted mind and draining the hangover and rum from his body. When he finally came out, he had the best idea he'd had since… well, ever. He dressed, feeling immensely better, and began to walk into the market, even whistling a little. 

It was his best idea yet. Of that he was sure.


	25. Black Pearls

[A/N- I want everyone to go read A.H.Smith's story, in my Fav's, and review! This poor girl's only got three reviews, and they're all mine! And I love that story- would I send you, oh my marvelous reviewers, whom I praise, to read a bad one? Thanks for being so patient with me, I'm going to clear up a few misunderstandings- whenever I put a huge chunk of text in italics, it's either a memory or a dream. In that case it was a memory, a response to your request for more detail on Jack's rescue, Ani. I shoulda made that more clear. Yeah, it's fast paced, but it's going to slow down for a little. I hope you like this chapter. Kudos to those of you who understand the line about the _Black Pearl's_ name in the first chapter.]

Alinnya's arm still hurt, but the swelling had gone down, and her fever had mostly broken, but the shaman insisted she stay at the house, and had allowed her to sit on the back porch, reading his collection of books contentedly. She'd eaten a little, read some, and slept, but mostly just sat and thought. Something was different. It was as though that slash through her wrist, through the branding that had defined her treatment for most of her life. She'd been twelve when she'd been given that brand, and now without it, she wasn't sure if the same person was in her skin. Free. She tested the word on her lips. Granted, she wasn't paid off, yet, but she was free. She could go get drunk as hell if she wanted, she could walk out of a man's hold without fear of a backlash she couldn't react to.

She could get onto the first ship leaving port, and never look back, and no one would be the wiser.

Probably the worst part was that she'd never actually been able to make a conscious decision on her own, now that she could, she had no idea what to do. She could go home, disguise the brand from her family, or whatever was left of it, and go into upper middle class, be a true lady, wed and childbearing, eating with the right fork and wearing the proper dress. She could get her own ship… no. She couldn't be a captain, and she was well aware of that. She hadn't the audacity, nor the political subtlety. She didn't want to. She didn't really know what she wanted to do. All she knew was sailing. She was too plain to be put into another dress and waltzed around the room, and too proud to be a whore. She may as well stay with Jack, for now.

Jack.

She still didn't really understand why she'd gotten back off that ship for him, gone to that dance for him, helped him escape once, then gone back and gone after him _again_. She was not the type to do that. Any man who falls behind is fuckin' dead or worse. But something about the idea of Jack's feet swinging in the air made her heart- a muscle she'd long forgotten having- lurch. And she hated the feeling.

"It's a beautiful sunset," Jack's voice by her ear caught her off guard, and she turned to look at him. "But it's certainly not worth crying over."

With that, he brushed a pair of loose tears from her cheeks, his heart falling dejectedly. Would that ever leave? As soon as the first syllable had left his mouth, her hand had gone for a pistol that wasn't there. Would she forever be so defensive? Was there nothing he could do to change that?

She turned back to the sunset for a moment, taking a deep breath. He could read her face so well now, and it unnerved him. The intense scowl into nothingness was not a sign of anger at all, but her full concentration on some minor detail that wasn't working somewhere. Right now her face was furrowed in pain and confusion. He understood the man's words, now. The girl could barely shoulder the weight of her own heartaches, how could he be selfish enough to demand his desires on it. The grand scheme he had planned died on his lips. She could wait to know how much he loved her. 

"Don't ya want your present, love?" she turned back to him, her brow furrowing in confusion, as he pulled the small silver chain out of his pocket.

"Why are you getting me a necklace?" she asked quietly, as he clasped it behind her neck.

"I promised you pearls, love," he smiled quietly, holding the small stone at the end of the chain before her. "The finest in Singapore. They say black pearls hold within them the heart of a pirate, as rare and precious as any diamond." He smiled, looking at her. "It's why we're such a cold lot, as a maiden somewhere in London has all our hearts strung on her neck, not knowing the treasure she possesses. This one, I thought, should be yours."

She sat, and reached out, her hand covering his around the small round object, and for a brief moment in time, Jack thought he'd need never say those damned words, nor hear them from her, provided she could look at him with that open an expression forever.


	26. The Surprise

[A/N- thank you for all the reviews. Wow. I've never had this many. It's awesome. I love you all. A.H, babe, don't worry about getting too attached to Alinnya, this story's barely half done, and part of that's because the chapters are so short. If you see something for the re-write, tell me, because I'm going to get started on my next story as soon as this one's done. As for Alinnya's demons, well, frankly guys, she only has one, and she's not at the point where she will be face to face with him yet. After that, all she has to face is herself- trust me that that's the worst it will get. On to the next chapter!]   
  
The shaman smiled, quietly, as he watched the two of them, wrapped around each other, close as lovers, flipping pages in the book every minute or so. It had been years since he'd felt that kind of caring, but she was dead now, and the memory was enough. He would not tarnish it with another. It was she who had led him to the spiritual, to read eyes for a soul. And the eyes of the woman outside worried him. They spoke of horrors he could barely fathom, a ruthless audacity, and a single- minded possessiveness that would be the death of her. The cracks in her armor were Jack's, and Jack's alone. He was proud of him for his handling of the situation. There was something about the man that seemed almost as dark as she did, some great sympathy that lurked in their depths, a certain protectiveness where she was concerned. He'd make them stay another week. Then that arm could go wherever they saw fit. He could let her leave- her soul would be taken care of.   
***   
"Come on, love. Let's go," Jack pulled her up by her good arm, steadying her. He was grinning like a madman.   
"Where are we going?" she didn't know which was more surprising- his behavior, or the fact he was holding her hand walking down the street. He never held her hand. It was… alien. Strangely comforting, but foreign nonetheless.   
"Well love," he spun her around, so that she was facing him, his hands on her hips, their faces so close that any small motion would turn into a kiss. "I have some… unfinished business with you, if you will."   
It was all he could do, with his body that close to hers, to suppress the urge to have her, right there, on the street. He grinned savagely at her in the fading twilight, kissing her gently, seductively, and then leading her deeper into the night life of Singapore.   
She was surprised by the bonfires on the beach, till she realized the date. It was a holiday, of sorts. It was spring, and there was rum everywhere, food cooking, and a band playing lazily on the side. They stopped as Jack led her toward them.   
"Ah, my friends, will you dance?" the lead bandsman asked them, waving his arm invitingly. "It is good karma to all here."   
A mutter went through the crowd, and she turned to face Jack, who smiled at her and kissed her hand.   
"There are no women here with hoop skirts or corsets to whisk me away," he smiled at her, stepping back. The look in his eyes was entreating. "Tonight, mi'lady, I am all yours."   
She turned to face the musicians and nodded, stepping forward to kiss him forcefully as the music started.


	27. Screaming Silence

[A/N- Okay everybody, this is the last mushy. Then we're out of the mushy. I swear to god we're out of the mushy! For a while, anyway… though you may be wishing for it later…]

This was no ballroom waltz. The music was faster, more seductive. He spun her around, and she flowed from his arms like wine, graceful as hell. Her hand was on his chest, his on her hip, as they danced, their eyes locked, their feet moving in perfect unison, a mixture of sweat and hard breathing. A dance far more intricate and far more erotic than anything he'd ever done before. Far too soon, it was over. He kissed her, pressing her body along his, his hands tangled in her hair, his breeches several sizes too small. Jeering and catcalls in several languages ensued, but he ignored them, lost in the feeling of her lips against his. An airy whimper escaped her throat, and he pulled away, looking deep into her eyes.   
"Shall we go, love?" his voice was rough.   
"Yes," she replied, wondering if he even heard her or gathered the answer from watching her lips move. The end result was the same, as he led her toward a more secluded portion of the beach. He kissed her again, far more demandingly, spurred on by the vibration of her moans against him. She was fucking mute in bed, and the prospect of her making any noise at all excited him. He forced himself to keep his self- control, pulling back from her lips, her breathing labored, her eyes closed and her face in an expression that could only be defined as lust. She was shaking in his arms- no. He was the one shaking. Every emotion seemed to jar through his body like a sea squall, and he rested his head against the crook of her neck, crushing her in his arms. She held him as well, her breath tickling his chest through the thin shirt. It was a warm night, but she was covered in goosebumps.   
"I sought thee the world over, and found you not," he whispered.   
"But I was with you in every word and deed and gesture," she replied, looking him in the eyes and kissing him again. She had never experienced him in this light- so tender, uncertain, and so passionate. It was almost unnerving, but it was sending chills down her spine, simultaneously.   
He ran his lips down her neck, nipping delicately on his way, and she melted under him, her knees giving out as he continued his way down her collarbone, and he chuckled as her weight fell on his arms, and he sank onto the sand, cradling her, his lips finding the bare skin of her stomach and sucking, causing her to whimper, her hands wrapped hard through his hair. After far too long, his lips made their way towards her breasts, and she moaned as he trailed his fingers over their outline, relishing the feeling of her skin under his. He leaned forward, kissing her thoroughly, his hand unlacing her trousers. Her hands ran down his shoulders and chest, gripping his sides forcefully as he pulled her pants down around her knees, dragging his fingernails up his thighs on the return trip.   
He let out a gasp as her fingers traced the bulge in his pants, his hips involuntarily jerking forward at the loss of sensation, sighing as he felt the pressure in his pants decrease, though she wasn't nearly as quick about it as he had been. He ran his fingers up the joint of her thigh, grinning a little at her hiss of breath as she tried to jerk her hips to where she wanted him. He obliged her in that respect, though his touch was too light to do much good.   
"Jack…" she whimpered, and the sound of her voice killed his self-control. He fell to his knees over her, his mouth dominating hers, his fingers wiggling inside her all the way to the knuckles, and she moaned against him, her hands finally defeating his pants, and he pulled back, growling, as her hands grasped his already- strained erection. She chuckled, and he ripped off her pants and boots, driving into her without another conscious thought.   
She yelped, and he stopped, sheathed inside her, willing himself to stop the tremors that were coursing through him. Yes, this. He'd searched the whole damn city searching for this.   
She, however, had gotten tired of waiting, and pushed him over. Her hips grinded against his as she landed on top of him. He rose up to kiss her, shifting his legs for balance, and ended up sitting, Indian- style, with her legs wrapped around his waist. Now this was a new one. He kissed her shoulder, his hands running down her waist, between her legs…   
He was rewarded with a strangled cry as she fell backwards under his ministrations. He chuckled, thrusting gently as her body tensed around him, her cries getting louder as he went. She let out a mild scream after a short while, her back arching against his legs, her fists gripping futilely at the sand, and he closed his eyes as he went into oblivion with her.   
***   
She wanted her pants back. It was almost dawn, and the sand was grating against her legs. She stood, wiggling carefully out of Jack's arms, and walked waist deep into the ocean, feeling the cool water swirl around her body.   
_"Why don't you scream for me, lovely?"_   
She barreled backwards as though the man was standing right in front of her, nearly losing her balance as she approached the shore, nearly ripping her trousers as she slung them back on. She looked around, almost expecting to see Jonathan standing next to her.

She supposed that ship would never get any farther behind her.


	28. Time to Go

[A/N- Okay! Okay! Calls for an update are being answered. Are you happy now? Thank you for all my old faithfuls, and the new people! Hey, I love you all! Now, this is a short part to the full chapter, but, unfortunately, it's all I'll be able to finish today. But I like it, so I thought you'd appreciate it. Here we go!]

Time to go, beautiful," Jack hauled her by the now-healed wrist, nodding to the shaman as he pulled her out of the door, jamming his pistol in his sash and his hat on his head.   
"Where are we going? Captain-"   
The Hawk pulled into harbor midnight last night. He's already found me, love. We have to go."   
She nodded, wide-eyed, running behind Jack at breakneck speed through the streets, inches behind him, when a hand grabbed at her throat, snapping the chain of her necklace. A hand clasped around her mouth just as she began to scream. Jack spun on his heel, face to face with the pistol's barrel. He cocked his own, pointing it right back.   
"Thank you," his grimy fingers were all over her neck, "for taking such good care of my favorite swag."   
She ripped the right sleeve of her shirt, angling her arm so her former captain could see the lost branding.   
"Well," he chuckled, "we can fix that."   
"Let go of her, mate," Jack had never been so serious. "Lest you plan to pay me back."   
"And if I don't?" his hand went lazily down to her breast, squeezing it painfully. "It's been far too long, precious. You still have to scream for me, you know." Her eyes were ice under his touch.   
Run, she mouthed at Jack, turning to face her captor. "I could use a few more months," she smiled serenely, hitting him hard in the gut with her fist. She grabbed Jack's arm as she bolted down the street, weaving to escape the bullets. Jack sent a few shots behind his shoulder, and he pulled her into an alleyway, kissing her roughly.   
"Get to the ship, love. Have it ready to sail the moment I'm there."   
"Be there," she forced the broken necklace into his hand, her expression unreadable. She disappeared wordlessly into the street.   
He whirled out, bringing his sword to the captain's throat, only to be met by his blade.   
"Now you listen, and you listen well," Jack sidestepped, circling the man. "If you lay a finger on her, you lose a hand. A kiss, your head. Anything else," he dipped his sword suggestively, "is at my discretion. Savvy?"   
"You can't keep her from me forever, son," Jonathan chuckled. "But seeing as the chase is the best part, I'll let it be- for now. She is good, isn't she?" He laughed at Jack's expression, walking away. It took Jack a solid minute to put away his sword, and he left, receiving little more than a glace from the French officials that ran by him.


	29. Madagascar

[A/N- another short one, but somehow the next chapter just doesn't seem to belong here. Thank you for all your reviews, all your love, I need it! Make me finish this before I start on the next story! Which I _hope_ will be half as good!]

Jack hauled himself on the deck just as the _Death Flight_ began pulling out of the harbor, looking around at the hustle and bustle of the crew. He made a leisurely walk toward the helm, covering Alinnya's hand with his own, guiding her steering of the ship. She turned to face him, but his eyes were scanning the horizon, shaded by that silly hat from the dance, somewhat dingier than it had been two weeks ago. 

"Take me to Madagascar, love. He'll be behind us soon."

She spun the wheel, her eyes turning to measure the angle from the sun, stopping the wheel at a rough guess. "Sorry to be such a bother to you."

"Quite the contrary," he smiled at her, the pearl swaying from it's chain, wrapped around his wrist. "Bit of a blessing, really. I always wanted leverage over the man."

"Explain."

"My parents quarreled often. Mostly about my father's mistress. There were times it would… get a little rough." He winced at the memory. "My mum threatened to leave, and take me with her. The next morning, we were on board that ship, and I was staring into the bastard's face." He turned to look at her. "He was Captain of the _Red Dagger_, then. That's why I didn't realize." His grip was nearly crushing her hand, but she knew better than to move. "I've lost one woman to that ship. I will not lose you to it."

"Pray," she replied, looking back at the horizon and adjusting the wheel, "that you never have to make that decision."

***

Madagascar was a good week's worth of sailing, and the crew was grumbling a bit by the time they got there. The cove was treacherous to maneuver- Jack could see why Brady liked it. "Drop the anchor," he yelled at the men, scanning the distance and measuring the depth of the water. The clean outline of a very… _large_… shark swam underneath of the boat, and he swallowed, praying for no mistakes.

"It's worth what's in there," it seemed as though she'd read his mind, but she was staring at the rock face, where a metal cage hung off of a thick chain, the bottom suspended a few inches in the water. He suppressed the urge to hold her and the shudder that was wracking her body. "Let's go. We might just be able to take it all."

She hopped into a rowboat, holding the oars as it slid down into the water with its crew, and rowed to the gaping black maw of the dreary place.

Jack looked around the horizon one last time. For a moment, he thought he saw a pair of sails in the distance- but no, they were gone.


	30. Swag

[A/N- my apologies that this is as short as this, and thank you everyone for putting up with my short chapters lately! I vow that the next one will be a doozy, or I will have five or six up within a week. Deal? Deal. Good, since I'll be on vacation soon and not have access to a computer. Love you all and thank you thank you thank you!]

Alinnya didn't remember being so afraid in her whole life. It made her rash, but she wanted out of there. Bastard though he was, Jonathan Brady was an excellent sailor, and he had a pirate's intuition about his hoard. She hoped Jack understood that. If they were caught, they'd all be on that box. And it really, really wasn't a fun place to be.

Take what you can.

She was off on the first boat, rowing as though dear life depended on it, the ship's crew rowing along behind her, their eyes glazed, the gold- fire that you'd have to see to understand.

The whole damned world was summed up in pound signs.

And there it was- the first mountain of it. The silhouette of the shark under the boat glanced eerily off the cave wall, as the torches glinted off the gold. Gold suspended by floats in the murky water, gold hanging by the crate from the ceiling. It looked like hell, glittering madly in the darkness. She could see the whites of Jack's eyes, a rarity in itself, suspended in the darkness.

"Don't TOUCH IT!" she roared, stilling the greedy hands of the crew. "These crates will crash the boats. There's a trick to it."

She stood, pulling and angling her little boat till it was right under a crate. She motioned for the crewmen to hold it there, as she climbed onto the box, and up the rope suspending it, until she'd reached the coil extra from it's hook in the stone. She loosed the rope, using her body weight against the cave wall to lower it slowly into the boat. She jumped from boat to boat, lowering them all similarly. Finally, they were done, seventeen crates being hauled back to the ship. After loading, a fresh wave began, and they cleaned out the top row. 

"How do we get the last?" Jack asked her, drinking his rum in the galley, the crew fit to burst.

"Do we still have that dynamite in the hold?" she tipped her own bottle, letting the liquid swish around her mouth before she swallowed.

"Aye," he looked at her curiously. "Whatcha thinkin', lass?"

"If we aim to get 'em, the sharks'll get us. They leave that cave at dawn- fishin's better elsewhere. So we keep bombing 'em out while we haul them up. They're chained underneath, so we'll have to push them from under as well as lash them to get over."

"Won't the boats tip?"

"We can brace them against the wall. Should be fine." She stood. "Goodnight, Captain."

"I ain't done with you tonight, girl," his grip on her wrist and the look in his eyes told her everything. The ship lurched, unexpectedly, and some of the sailors whispered nervously.

"Just the tide, men, comes in hard through here," Alinnya shouted out, but Jack remembered that blanch in her face. "I'll be above when you're through."

With that, she disappeared up the stairs.

***

"Well, there you are. I was afraid I'd have to storm the ship, love. What took you?"

She felt like she'd lose her meal listening to him speak, but she bit her lip and looked him dead in the eye, silent. It was all she could hope to convince him to leave- did she even dare hope that he didn't know they'd gotten the loot?

"What the hell do you want?" she snarled, but it lacked her normal bite, and he smirked ruthlessly.

"Isn't it obvious, beautiful?" he walked up as close to her as he could without any kind of contact. "You come along, quietly, his ship stays in one piece. We both know he'll never find anything in that cave."

She looked up in his eyes, searching for the bluff. It was the right side, he could blow this ship to smithereens. But not…

"And what will happen to your ship, Captain, when the gunpowder explodes?" she smirked. The cliffs were too narrow, the current too strong outside of the harbor to hold position that long.

"There are other ways to end a man's life," he smiled back, grabbing her hip and dragging her toward him. She yelped, jerking backwards, just as he caught her a right hook in the jaw and two of the other crewmen dragged her, gagged and kicking, onto the ship.

"Come on, boys," Jonathan laughed. "We got our swag."__


	31. The Numbness

[A/N- okay, here's a quickie while I continue. Hope you enjoy, and I don't make you too upset, at this point- I have no idea how long this will get!]

Jack couldn't figure it out. She'd been there last night. He'd seen her walk up the steps. She'd been there. He hadn't been dreaming. Right?

But that morning brought harsh reality and a hangover with it, and she was nowhere to be seen on the ship. He'd taken a good look at th hold, and instructed his men to leave port. There was no more room for any treasure they might find. It was then, sailing out of the small bay, he noticed the scrape marks across the port side, the marks and nicks from grappling hooks. When had he been boarded? And why… why was that damned necklace hanging off of the rigging? He plucked it carefully off of the stiff rope, his heart plummeting in his stomach as the pearl shone in the dawn.

_"You can't keep her from me forever."_

He spun on his heel, expecting the man to be standing right behind him.

"Josh!" he roared, hunting down the second mate with a crazed audacity. He grabbed his shoulder, and the smile on the boy's face disappeared as he looked in his captain's eyes. "Find the bloody first mate."  
"Sir," Josh wiggled out of the captain's grasp as he ran into the hold. 

Jack jumped up to the helm, pulling out his spy glass and seeking the horizon for any glimpse of white. But there was none. A whole ocean to play with, and one wrong decision could mean the world. He clutched the necklace more firmly in his fist.

"Guide me love. You know him as well as I." Every inch of what he knew of Jonathan Brady running through his head, he spun the wheel, going with the strong south easterly they'd had all night. Jonathan wasn't stupid- he would have wanted gone. Jack wasn't stupid either- and no one, absolutely no one, was going to take what was his.

***

Alinnya watched the cove disappear behind them, her arms lashed around the mast in an uncomfortably forward thrust position. She was scramblng, mentally, to find the sheds of her armor, which Jack had so effectively dispersed of. She needed it now. She needed her old self, she needed the voice inside her head to stop screaming his name, to stop pleading for him to find her.   
He never would, and deep in the bowels of her soul, she knew it. It was enough to crush her.   
She had nothing left, at this point. The damn pirate had what he wanted from her. She bit back the urge to spit on the deck. She bit back the urge to cry. She bit back emotion with a violence that brought bile to her mouth. What was she, to anyone, besides some fucking property that they fought over? Anything?   
There. A little bit of that frozen feeling. She was almost numb- almost herself again. She could do this. If she couldn't be anything beyond swag, then god. She'd be some worthless swag. She grinned a little at the prospect. If he got what he wanted from her, he'd keep her alive.   
It was a simple enough equation.   
She looked back to the cove one last time, bidding the _Death Flight_ and all... all of its crew farewell, before her hands fought at the cords, and after a few moments, she untied herself from the mast. She stretched slightly, forcing the muscles of her shoulders to relax. She knew few things better than she knew the games played by Jonathan Brady. She could jump off the railing, but he'd just pull her out. He wanted her to scream, remember?   
_Alinnya, girl,_ she looked around, not a sight different, on the outside, than she had been a year ago in this position. _Let's finish this._  
Nineteen years of hard living and no shit to show for it.   
A small voice in the back of her head found it befitting to whimper his name one more time.


	32. Throughout the Night

[A/N- my apologies for the wait… life is catching up with me, and- as I hope you can tell- this is a difficult part of the story to write. I almost want to cut it short, and I probably will, but it needs to be understood where Alinnya comes from in all this… especially… well, I better stop there. I'll try to get more in this weekend.]

She wasn't fully sure what to do with her newfound freedom. She was stuck on a ship, wasn't she? There wasn't much to do. There wasn't any hope of her jeopardizing anything, really. Last time, she'd managed to work as a crewman the last time, but she rather doubted she'd be allowed the luxury again. She was stuck. She was bored.

She was exhausted, but she didn't dare sleep. Sleep could mean to many things.

"Good to have you back, lovie," a voice growled in her ear, and she felt a hand grip her hipbone, hard enough to leave a bruise, it was sure. She stared straight ahead, and did her best to ignore Miha's suggestion. He'd get his fill of it tonight, she was sure.

"Miha!" Jonathan's voice rang out over the deck. "If you're that impatient for her, I suppose you'll have to wait until last, eh?"

The first mate retreated, grumbling audibly, and Alinnya found herself face to face with the single most hated man she'd ever spent time with. And she did. She loathed him to the very core of her soul. His eyes traveled down her body in a way that made her feel naked. She suppressed a shudder as she continued to stare at him, as coldly as she could make herself. 

It was the one thing she'd never been able to explain to… him. The man in front of her was an expert sadist, and once he was in your system, he was never really out.

"You're growing fat," he smiled at her mischievously, grabbing her by the neck. "We'll have to fix that."

With that, he flung her into the captain's quarters, and before she could regain he balance, she hit the wall with her head.

***

It wasn't uncommon for her to wake up like this. That was the only reason she didn't jerk, didn't squeal, didn't move. For all the time that she had spent outside of his grasp, the old habits were still there.

She kept her breathing as even as she could as the blade sliced through the skin of her stomach. Certainly not deep enough to be dangerous- just enough to be painful. 

When the hell had it gotten so cold in here?

She opened her eyes, staring directly at Jonathan's bald head. He was humming some stupid song as he wrote over her skin. And it was writing, though she couldn't read it upsidown. She directed her gaze down her own body, tied onto the bed, and her eyebrows rose in surprise.

Had she been asleep that long?

There were words around her neck, not that she could see, but she could feel the stiffness and stinging of the scratches. There were words down her torso, across her breasts, and he was starting his way down one leg, diligently and slowly scraping with the very tip of a small dagger. She laid her head back, sighing in resignation. She'd dealt with worse.

That's why she wasn't expecting it when the blade dug into the inside of her thigh, and she hissed, tensing momentarily. He wiggled the blade around for a moment before withdrawing, letting the blood run for a few moments before he began mincing the rest of her legs. But she was prepared for it now, and despite the involuntary hitches of breath once in a while, you couldn't tell that anything was happening.

She heard him brush off his hands, and the door opened, and shut.

She closed her eyes for a moment, then they snapped back open. She didn't want to see his eyes. She didn't want to see those damned brown eyes!

The door opened again, and a masculine chuckle was to be heard through the roof. She stared at the planks of the ceiling in silent prayer. It was going to be a long night.

***

Jack was right in his choice. He knew it. But he wasn't sure of the timing. What could he expect from the man he was chasing? Worse… what should he expect from Alinnya? The expression in her blue eyes, feverishly etched in his brain, made him shudder. She was an all or nothing. She would either hang on in sheer hope, or end it as fast as possible. He cringed at the thought of which he would prefer. 

"Cap'n?" Josh's voice was distinct against his troubled thoughts. "Cap'n- the crew are restless. They don't want to give chase if there's nothing in it for them."

"Tell them," Jack sighed, his brain firing slower than it ever had, "tell them that she's worth a half share, to be divided amongst them if we get her back, alive."

"Aye, sir," the man disappeared below deck.

"Dammit, woman!" Jack slammed his hand against the helm in frustration. She'd better be worth enough for him to give up such a dream as his own ship.

***

She was doing pretty good. Her face and breasts were bruised past all comfort, and she had at least one black eye, and every inch of skin on her body hurt, but it was worth it so far.

Now if only her mouth didn't taste like blood.

She'd used her teeth on two men that had chosen not to battle between her legs, stared down the four that had chosen to do so, and made lewd suggestions at the one who'd attempted to sodomize her.

She'd hadn't been lying to herself about the whole long night thing.

She bit her lip as the door opened for the final man. Miha. This would be her greatest challenge tonight. 

It was already grey in the east.

She hiccupped as he punched her in the gut, knocking the wind out of her, and Jonathan, outside the door, winced slightly, but still grinned at the sound of flesh beating flesh began.


	33. Aftermath

[A/N- yes, it's here, finally. My apologies for the lack of updates, and it's long (for me) to make up for it. There is more to come. When it comes. This is the hard part to write, as we're getting toward the end.]

Sleep. Something about sleep. Wasn't it important, or…. Something. She had no idea of the passage of time. Life was a nightmare, raped in the dark, beaten in daylight. She knew that they were trying to break her. But why?… she was forgetting things. Names, times, memories. Whose eyes were those, the brown ones, that kept haunting her nightmares? She glanced around desperately, praying for a way to knock herself unconscious before the crew took advantage of her in broad daylight, again.

Wait… what was? White. Sails. No. She turned her eyes back to Jonathan's with a speed that would have broken her neck, had it been her head moving. He mustn't see. She was backed against the bulwark; all their backs were to that speck of white.   
All she could do to give him an advantage, to keep their attention toward her, was negligible. She would do it. She bit back the urge to cry, to fall sobbing. He had come, he had come.   
Maybe there was hope for her in hell, after all.   
She laughed, a small sprinkling of gratitude laced with the insanity she had created for herself, and stepped back up on the railing. One jump, and they would be goners. It would give him more than enough time. Not for her, she wouldn't… but it was how it was. She traced one bare toe off the railing, back over the sea, dipping her knee with the utmost balance, and, winking savagely at her captors, pushed herself backwards.   
The wrist snagged her ankle almost immediately, and her head smashed against the hull of the ship, causing her to hang in a daze momentarily, before renewing the battle against the hand that held her foot. She was dragged back up on the deck as the entire crew sought to get their hands on her, to kick, bite, punch, grope, something. She was like some infernal drug to them, and had never understood, why the addiction.   
Why do all these fucking men want me?   
The words were etched in her brain. The hatred went even deeper, and she swore to herself that no man was getting her again without her terms. And that was all. She was sick of it. Sick of the hopelessness, the despair, sick of fighting to live with nothing to live for.   
It took a little groping in the pile of bodies, but she finally got her hands on one, and with a little work, a second. She didn't even aim; she just cocked the pistol and pointed straight up.   
Blood poured out of the bastard's gut as he lay, screaming, on top of her. She pushed him off, grabbing his pistols and tossing the wasted one. What good was an empty one to her?   
Think fast, Kitty.   
She caught the motion out of the corner of her eye, and without conscious thought, cocked the pistol and sent a bullet flying into another man's head. All eyes were on her. Some had the sense to reach for their weapons, and some were to dumbfounded by their toy's rebellion. But she had time. She had time.   
Pistol barrel in the corner of her eye. She shot, and off went the arm. She snagged the extra pistols from the second man down.   
***   
Jack pulled the Hawk as close as he could, his brain racing. Why, why, why was no one paying attention to his ship? Were they that confident? Or was it something worse?   
He brought the crew with him, behind him, climbing the grappling hooks onto the helm. He disabled the rudder chain quickly, hacking away the piece of wood that pulled it. The crew was behind him, and in front of him…   
Her eyes were the only part of her he couldn't see well, her shirt was so ripped that the form… or lack thereof, as it were, of her breasts were clear. Her trousers were shredded. There wasn't a spot of her skin that wasn't bruised, or bloody, or raw. In fact, the only reason he recognized her was the fact she was laughing manically, pointing a pistol into the throng of pirates, reckless and incredibly stupid.   
There had to be a reason he loved her- besides the tendency to get herself in over her head.   
He watched her turn her head, and in a flash, she saw him, and their eyes met. It was like falling in love all over again, and suddenly everything was in slow motion.   
The crew flung themselves forward behind him, and everything erupted as the battle scene closed before his eyes. He didn't have the strength to move. It wasn't what she wanted.   
Her eyes in his, from so far away still, had begged him to leave. They had begged for an end. And he had no idea how to deal with it.   
"ENOUGH!!" Four shots rang through the air, and the entire company parted, Alinnya standing right in the middle, pistols in hand. She turned to rage at Jack's crew, snarling vehemently, pistols everywhere and nowhere at once. But they'd already made short work of most of the _Hawk_. There were only a half a dozen left. 

"Get back on your own fucking ship." There was nothing recognizable in her manner. That mild aloofness, the insecurity, was gone, and he could now lay claim to loving a cold, heartless, bloodthirsty bitch. The men backed against her snarling countenance, but not before she managed to strip half of them of their weapons. He watched Jonathan step forward to aim a pistol at her, but she spun, and the shot rang out on the silent deck, as she tossed the pistol to the side. He backed, his hands groping at the bloody mangle of his trousers at his groin. Jack winced. Jonathan screamed, and the tall African made a flying leap for Alinnya. She shot him straight in both kneecaps, laughing harshly as he fell to the deck, roaring. She snagged his sword out of its scabbard and lifted his chin with it, fire burning in her eyes as she sliced straight up his face, carving off the majority of his scalp. Jack watched, his face stone, as she consisted to carve the living hell out of this one man, like a child's finger-paints in blood. It was ghastly. 

"Get back to the ship. Be ready to set sail." He told his crew, standing and walking back to his own helm, to escape some of the insanity, the stench of gunpowder and blood.

It was a solid half hour before the screaming ended, and she crawled her way, bloody and bruised, back onto his ship. She wasn't really looking anybody in the eye, just walking, mechanically, toward the helm.

"Prep the guns, get us a good range. We'll shoot the bitch down." Jack stood at the wheel, eyeing his first mate warily. She was free… did she even recognize that, now? The look in her eyes was haunted, terrifying. 

The guns shot out at the remnants of the _Hawk_ as the wind twisted the ship. One lucky ball hit the powder room, and the ship burst in a ball of flame on the open sea.

It was such a satisfying sight that Jack almost didn't notice.

In fact, she was almost halfway across the deck, barreling at breakneck speed toward the rail, before he figured out what she was doing. He raced after her, catching her just as she got to the rail, and drug her back, screaming.

He held her facedown on the deck, not sure what to do.

He'd never had to deal with a crying woman before.


	34. He Finally Says It

[A/N- yes, it's a double whammy! Go me! Just figured I'd get this little transition out of the way before I get to the next adventure. I enjoyed it, really. *smile* So I hope you all like it, and like it a lot, because we are almost through. If I'm lucky, this baby won't top fifty chapters. But knowing my luck… you'll like it better, though. Whatever works. Much love, and on with the mush!]

She was crying. She was lying on his bunk, veritably screaming, she was sobbing so hard.

And he could _not_ understand why. 

Really. He went to all that effort of saving her, of tearing her out of that man's grasp, and she had the nerve, once safe, and back in his arms, to try to jump back onto that bloody ship and into the fuckin sea. How _dare _she-

Then he turned to face her, in his silent rant, and looked into the eyes of this woman, whose blood was staining his sheets, who was still wearing his shirt, whose tears were smeared all over her face, her cheeks scratched and clawmarked, her lip split, her nose bleeding, her eyes red.

She gasped, as though choking on her own words, and turned her face, sitting up on the bed. He sat quietly, listening to her breath hitch as she tried to stop crying. Her voice was almost beyond his hearing.

"You weren't supposed to come."

"Did you really think I'd leave you in his grasp?" his voice was barely any louder than hers.

"Why not?" she turned to face him then, her face contorted in pain. "You had everything you wanted out of me."

"Love," he sighed, kneeling by the bed, and pulling a gold chain off his neck. "You still have this."

She took the necklace gingerly in her hands, deliberating over its black gloss, before handing it back to him. "I shouldn't have this."

"And why not?" he made no move to take it back.

"Anyone who can do what I did, back there…" she bit her lip, averting her gaze momentarily, "shouldn't have that."

"I want you to have it." 

"I'm no better than they are! You should have seen it. You should have seen him." She stood, walking unsteadily, but purposefully, to the door.

"Alinnya…" he rose to stop her.

"I _enjoyed_ it, Jack. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed it! How the fuck am I better than him? _HOW_?!"

"Because I bloody love you!" he roared right back at her. "I love you, and you daren't throw that back at me! Don't." The last word was almost an angry growl. 

She stood silent, back against the door, for several moments, within arm's reach, but no one was reaching out. They were both islands unto themselves. "You're always complicating things," she whispered, staring at her bare feet. "I needed you. There. Then. Not now, apologizing after the fact," she stared into his eyes accusingly.

He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. Low blow, fucking low blow. 

"I promise you, on my honor," he put as much feeling into those words as he knew how, sliding forward to hold her, "that no man shall cause you harm, and that you shall never find yourself in a fix I can't get you out of. Satisfied?"

"What happens when you can't keep that promise?" She leaned her head against his chest.

"Love, if you can survive a week without me, and come out of it swinging, and I spend the same week tying myself to the helm so I don't fall over and embarrass meself, who do you think is the stronger one here?" he smiled into her shoulder. "I can't lose you."

She barely heard the words, but she knew they were there. And the cracking process started all over again.


	35. The Return

[A/N- do I still have Jack? I feel like I don't, in the last chapter, or this one, and it's bothering me sorely. Thank you for being such promiscuous reviewers, even after my long absence… I believe I shall write you a sex scene in gratitude. Soon, soon. smile Much love to all of you, old and new readers alike.]   
  
They'd landed in Singapore for a while. The boys had plenty of gold, and Jack wanted to start drawing up plans for his ship. Not to mention that Alinnya was barely speaking to anyone, much like a ghost haunting the ship. He'd relieved her of all her duties, and the crew avoided her, unsure of what to say, how to act. He'd avoided the brothels from their last stay, and gotten them a room in a respectable inn. He had not seen her once in the week since they'd made berth. And he'd looked for her. She was not there when he went to bed; she wasn't there when he awoke. He never found her in any of the taverns he'd frequented, and it was getting harder and harder to leave each night with arms empty of that certain female sensuality. His resolve was cracking.   
It was ten days before he saw her.   
He closed the door behind him, leaning his forehead against the wood for a moment, willing his breathing to steady. His pants were still far too small. He had almost cracked. He had almost followed her. He didn't want to, but this damned loneliness was almost too much for him. He loved her. She'd shunned him for it, and he felt so numb. He wanted the bottle of rum that was on the dresser, and to snuggle into the numerous pillows and cry. If she did not come back tonight, she wasn't going to come back.   
What the hell had he done to deserve that?   
So he turned around, his head moving slowly from its downward facing, and stopped midturn. He knew his face couldn't hide his shock.   
She looked much like that first night on the bow rigging, in that her face held that same angelic sorrow. Her eyes were harder, her back straighter, her arms loosely crossed at her sides. The biggest change was her hair. It was braided in a dreadlock fashion, with barely any left loose, different colored wooden beads hanging from the ends. He walked over slowly, fingering the trinkets.   
"Seventeen red," she whispered, "four black, one white."   
"Seventeen?" he asked, looking in her eyes.   
"I have slaughtered a ship's crew, and the ship. Seventeen. I lost both my brothers and parents. Four," she bowed her head momentarily, before bringing it back up. "And I love you. Just you."   
He kissed her then, so hard that he could feel her lips being pushed against her teeth, brutally, wild. He tried to convey every emotion, all the worry and hurt and loneliness, into that kiss, and felt like he failed miserably, but maybe not.   
"Why did you leave me alone, why?" he hissed at her, her face in his hands, inches from his own. She closed her eyes, grimacing slightly.   
"All my life I have been someone's. Everything I've done has been someone else's. I wanted to die, Jack. On the auction block, in your arms, on Brady's ship. I was never happy. I wasn't… I didn't know who I was. I didn't know what I wanted. I had to do that alone. I'm sorry. You don't know what it does…" she bit her lip to hold the tears, forcing her breathing to slow. "You don't know what it's like to want death. I wanted death like you wanted your own ship. It was all I could think about."   
"Well," her hair clacked as he ran his fingers through it. "Don't do it again."   
He smirked at her knowingly, then grabbed her upper arms and threw her onto the bed.   
Her eyes widened in surprise, and he noticed a trace of fear in them, but as soon as he noticed it, it was gone. She gave him a coy little grin, and he pinned her underneath of him, both her tiny wrists gripped in one hand. He traced some of the clawmarks that hadn't fully healed delicately, the sensation of his fingers against her skin causing her chills. He followed it with his lips, tracing the trail of scars down her jaw and neck, his lips brushing against the collar of her shirt. She moaned, her hips grinding against his, and he abandoned his hold on her wrists to slide his hands down her waist, pulling at the hem of her shirt till his hands found skin. Glorious skin. There was something electric about having her underneath him, completely helpless under his hands. He wanted nothing more. The ship could sink, the gold could run out, and he –almost- wouldn't notice.   
He'd really meant to tease her a little longer, but he wasn't even thinking about it when he forced her out of her pants, and found himself inside her.   
He stopped for a moment, fully sheathed, staring into her eyes. The world swam, and her pupils were trying to conquer her blue eyes, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen and red. She was beautiful. He kissed her then.   
"I love you."   
"And I you," she replied, running her hands through his hair, across his chest.   
He smiled, the traditional Jack Sparrow smirk, and shifted his hips, causing her to gasp. He chuckled, adding to the bruises on her mouth as he continued.   
It was going to be a long night.


	36. London

The port off of Liverpool was one of the most dreary places the _Death Flight_'s crew had ever seen. And most feared it would be the last. Jack had been plotting endlessly on the trip up the coast, most times falling asleep in his cabin, pouring over the science of shipbuilding, and designing one uniquely his own, taking mostly from the lines of the awe-inspiring snow and the schematics of the Caribbean sloops.

For that was where they were headed.

Alinnya had stashed it away as soon as she'd found it, getting her things back from the _Hawk_. It was a map, she'd guessed out of the Caribbean, with a good hunk of Spanish written across the top:

_Isla de Muerta_.

But none of the men wanted to go, when it was mentioned. Leave their profitable African coast for unknown waters? Absurd! So it had been settled. The crew got the ship, minus a little of their plunder, for their own uses, and Alinnya and Jack departed, to await the construction, crew, and maiden voyage of their masterpiece. She refused the dress, and so the two of them scattered their earnings on the way to London, with appraisals, a few thefts, and in the end, two thick piles of paper money. They both found it more than a little incredulous. Naturally, Alinnya drew stares everywhere they went- a woman! A sailor! She had to be a pirate. Jack watched as her jaw tensed with every passing whisper, but there was nothing either of them could do. Finally, Jack guided her over to the door of a well-to-do looking shop, opening the door and ushering her in.

"Roland!" he barked into the empty space, walking up toward the counter. Alinnya stood in the doorway, entranced by the model ships that lined the walls, diagrams and paintings, and certainly more than a little leary of the enclosed space.

"Roland!" Jack roared, his temper rising. "Don't keep a man waiting all day, mate!"

"It would do you some good to learn some manners." Roland stepped into the shop via the side door, looking slightly ticked himself. Alinnya raised an eyebrow at the man. He and Jack looked oddly similar, though Roland had to be a decade her senior. Both shared the same nose and strong jaw, roughly the same build, though Roland was far lighter skinned, blue eyed, and at least twenty pounds heavier across the middle. He was also dressed to the nines. Alinnya's eyes darted to Jack, wondering if this was the wisest decision he'd made.

"Please and thank you don't run a ship," Jack replied, smirking.

"But they do build them. Why don't you introduce us?" he gestured to Alinnya.

"Ah, Roland, this is Alinnya, my first mate, Alinnya," he grinned sheepishly at her. "This here's me mother's younger brother."

"Charmed," Roland introduced himself, taking her hand and kissing it at the knuckles. She wanted to laugh at the formality- would Jack even understand what had just happened? Most likely not. "It is nice to know that, for all his other flaws, my nephew has impeccable taste in women."

"You have no idea, sirrah," she smiled at him conspiritorially.

Jack cleared his throat pointedly, and Roland dropped Alinnya's hand, walking over to Jack. "I assume, since I did not send for you, you finally have the funds I require?"

"That I have," Jack smirked, "and the design."

Roland pulled a pair of spectacles out of his breast pocket. "Let's see it."

Jack gingerly pulled the piece of paper out of his shirt, carefully unfolding it and flattening the creases, the frown on his face evident as Roland bent over and examined the diagram. He and Alinnya exchanged a worried look, but didn't move as the man hmm'ed over the paper and made various clucking noises.

"Not badly done," Roland conceded. "You might have a new occupation once you're done with this piracy nonsense." He looked up at the man. "It'll cost you, however, more than what you've put by."

"Put by?" Alinnya echoed, confused.

Jack looked at her for a moment, and then chuckled. "I've been guarding Roland's trading vessels for years, Alinnya. He pays me well for the service."

"Bloody pirate," she smirked. He blew her a kiss.

"There is one problem with this design, Jack," Roland offered, sitting on a stool. "Perhaps two."

"And what would those be?" Jack asked, amiably. He was getting his ship. What could go wrong?

"For one, the design is too large for me to build in my private yards. It will have to be done on the company's dock, and if that's the case, you cannot sail it up and down the British waterways. Also, it will take well over a year to be built, and though I'm sure you could make other arrangements, I must insist you stay with me for that period of time."

"Well, we're not staying in the Atlantic, so that poses little problems."

"Where are you going, then?"

"The Caribbean."

"Ah!" Roland's face lit up. "Then perhaps I have the answer." He stood and paced around the shop, thinking. "You, Jack, will have come to me as a young captain out of the east, seeking employment. I am in the process of building a new ship, so I take you on. While the ship is being built, you and your lovely wife will be staying with me. I assume the two of you are married?"

Alinnya and Jack threw each other mildly panicked looks before looking back at him.

"Well, you are now," Roland sighed. "I can begin booking passages on your ship for colonists. On the return journey, your ship is attacked and taken over by pirates-"

Alinnya nearly fell to the floor in hysterical laughter.

"-And you, my young friend, are brutally murdered, leaving your young wife-"

"No." The syllable came out of Jack and Alinnya's mouths simultaneously.

"She is my first mate, Roland, for a reason. You know me better than to think I'd just bring her along."

"Yes, I do," Roland sighed. "Very well. There is a dinner being held tonight in honor of the princess's birthday. Let us get trussed for the occasion, then turned on the spit."

As they walked out the door and Roland locked up for the day, Alinnya had a foreboding that he couldn't have worded it better.

A/N: Sorry for the delay, and I know this chapter was short, but I will make up for it, I swear! It's personal now.


	37. Cinderella and What Might Have Been

A/N: I give you the next chapter. By the bye, Roland's commentary on Alinnya's name is about 70 correct, and I'd be more than happy to give you access to my sources. The 30 I'm not sure about has to do with the fate of English girls with non-english names. Also- I will give a prize to whomever comes up with a good last name for our dear heroine! Thank you for staying with me... toodles!

Jack found himself rubbing his temples on the bottom of the grand stairway, pacing the room as Roland smirked, wiping his eyepiece occasionally.

But then, Roland had every reason to smirk.

He had taken his ship rat of a nephew and made him look like Bacchus, like Marc Antony reincarnate, in a few short hours. Jack's hair had been combed out, and tied behind his back, his outfit far more close-cut and subdued than was considered fashionable... but then, even without following the palace trends, Jack had the ability to have every woman on her knees, right there in the ballroom. He would see what this girl meant to Jack tonight.

This girl... what a puzzlement. Alinnya, Jack had introduced her. It was an old Hindu name, one of seven demons raised from hell to battle Sheba... he didn't remember the specifics of the tale, but if he did remember correctly, her namesake had been the ruler of both the oceans and jealousy.

How befitting.

He was rather shocked she still used the name, however. Her parents may have been ignorant of its orgins- as most colonists were of the local culture- but no church would have baptized a child with a non-English name, effectively excommunicating her family. So there were two options- it had either been a household nickname, or she had never been baptized. He would have to discuss this with her at a later date.

Perhaps, while they were in this discussion, he could ask her how she had come to know all the court mannerisms of London, when her facial structure played her off as being more Irish in her ancestry.

And maybe, if she warmed up to him enough, he could inquire as to the reason the word 'mine' was scrawled in shallow scars ringing around her neck and torso. Not highly noticable, and the maids had assured him no one would, but nevertheless.

What a puzzlement. And this one tiny, slender and seemingly frail girl had Jack pacing the room in a way that Roland had never seen. But Roland knew his maids far better than Jack did. He was certain they were having a grand time, dressing up the new mistress, and would, hopefully, send her down as promised. He knew enough to know a late entrance was beneficial to his cause. But Jack was a captain, and that made him incessantly impatient.

Roland lit a small cheroot, drinking in the wonderful flavor, while his nephew continued his rounds.

"Gov'ner," one of the maids appeared at the top of the stairs. "We're sending her down presently."

"'Bout bloody time," Jack growled.

"Your mother raised you better, that I know," Roland raised an eyebrow at the younger man. "You have something to learn in the next year, my boy," he grinned at the vision that filled the top of his stairwell. "Women may take their time whenever they please, but they never disappoint. Good evening, my lady," he reached the bottom of the stairwell, waiting patiently for her to descend.

"My lord," she replied, doing her best to hide her desperate attempts at breathing. What idiot had come up with this idea for womens' fashion?

She couldn't complain, the dress was stunning- sapphire blue silk, with a full skirt and a square neckline, which amply exposed her elevated breasts and what was left of her tightly contained waist. She wasn't sure, but she had a feeling that the maids had been giggling behind her back about the less curvaceous points of her figure.

Standing on that top stair, in these ungodly tight shoes, with these miles of fabric weighing her down and cinching her together, her scalp red and aching from the effort put into getting her hair _just right, _an insanely difficult job that required the loss of her beloved dreadlocks, being powdered, clucked, rouged, and feeling generally overdone and completely unloveable, she wanted nothing more than to run back into her room and let Jack handle the evening. Socially, it was perfectly acceptable.

That changed the minute she saw his eyes land on her.

Maybe it was the light, flickering from the chandelier, that caused her to think his mouth opened a little and his eyes were wider. Maybe that was what caused him to appear to sway.

She felt her heartstring wrench at the thought of what might of been- of what she might of been.

She placed a gloved hand delicately on the railing, and guided herself down, one step at a time, until she was finally at a point where she could reach his hand for the last few steps.

"My love," he bowed, kissing her wrist, winking at her as he did so, and she bit back the urge to laugh at his _so-there_ response, "I don't believe that I have ever seen you look so beautiful. The queen herself will be besot with envy."

"My lord," she permitted herself a small smile, "we should hope not. For if such is the case, then how am I to keep the other young maidens from taking you from my side?"

Roland smiled quietly at this exchange, if a little sadly. "Come," he said. "Our night has not yet begun."


	38. Fomous Last Words

_Alinnya, love. You were right. I'll admit it._

_You were right about the entire thing._

She was more than a little nervous of walking through those big double doors into the palace proper, because then it meant she had to let go of Jack, as it was unseemly to cling to one's husband in public. But oh, how she wanted to.

She knew exactly what she was up against- stunning whores with painted faces, miniscule waists, high breasts and soft, seductive voices. She had nothing at her disposal to fight these women, and she knew Jack. Knew him all too well.

The despair in her swelled beyond all hope, and her hands in her lap were white and sweaty. She didn't dare to look down at them.

Scars, scars, scars, that's all she'd ever been. Brands and battlewounds, nicks and scrapes and the overpowering emotional scars she'd carried with her for as long as she could remember. She swore to herself that she wouldn't cry when he left her. She would find someone else, some_thing_ else, and go on, and pretend that it had never happened, and become one of those seemingly helpless predators in that building, and shut herself away from any possible hurt, ever again, forever. She could do that. She could survive. She had more balls than any man.

_Don't leave me._

She held her head high, and even managed a small smile at the bellman who helped her down, earning her a dogmatic look from Jack as she took his arm, and she walked, almost floated, towards the palace, no outward appearance of her dying heart. Twasn't proper.

_I would die for you. Goodbye._

Jack had never seen such a disgusting display of wealth in all of his life. The pirate in him was using all his brainpower to figure out how to walk off with the chandelier, the man in him was overawed by its size, the light it cast into the room. He did his level best not to appear as awed and outleagued as he felt, and out of the corner of his eyes, noticed that both Roland and Alinnya seemed immune to the whole thing. How'd they do it? Roland acted as though he were about to step on hot coals, Alinnya as though she were taking steps toward a guillotine. Both under their best masks of politeness, of course, but he knew them both well enough to see the signs. He squeezed Alinnya's arm, gently, lending her all the support he could. They weren't dead yet. She grinned at him out of the corner of her eyes, and they stepped through the door, and he was blinded by the lights as the crier called their names.

_Let the games begin._ He was trying not to grin like a madman.


	39. Prince Charming

Roland escorted her onto the dance floor shortly after their arrival, leaving Jack confused and alone in their wake. Despite her best efforts, Alinnya found her eyes darting spasmodically, seeking him in the crowd as they waltzed around the dance floor.  
"He's probably found a respectible woman by now," Roland smirked at her turned face.  
She could have gotten whiplash, so quickly did she face him. "How do you mean?"  
"A woman of relative standing, not some brazen hussy as yourself. Honestly dear, do you think yourself worthy of being so much as a common whore?"  
"He thinks me more," she resisted the urge to spit in his face, to push away from him in revulsion.  
"Does he? Jack runs through women like water. I doubt, given his surroundings, something so vile as yourself will last much longer." He laughed. "Jack will find himself a high born girl to whisk away and stay on the atlantic coast, and keep my business profitable. Not follow some pirate whore into the bloody caribbean."  
"We shall see. He and I will discuss this later."  
"Don't be so sure, dear. Blood runs thicker than water- or a man's seed. And you have nothing of greater worth to offer him."  
Alinnya bit her tongue and gripped his arm as hard as she could, resisting every urge to beat him senseless.  
"Of course, he murmered, his lips dipping dangerously close to her ear, "you could always stay with me. I could put you in a proper room as my mistress, and keep you well. An Irish atrocity such as yourself could not ask for more."  
"Tell me," she smiled demurely at him as the song finished. "Which bothers you more- that I am Irish or that I am his."  
"Neither," he smiled, his eyes traveling over her possessively. "That you dare to fight me is my only trouble. I shall break you thoroughly, girl." He lifted her chin, almost lovingly. "Don't forget that."  
"Pardon me, sir," she hurried away as quickly as she could as the dance ended, racing for the balcony.  
She practically threw herself over the low railing, gasping for breath as the corset seemed to cinch tighter around her waist, and the world spun perilously. She felt she'd loose the contents her stomach no longer had around the world.  
"End it," she whispered. "Why must I live life fighting those who'd only master me?"  
"Madam!" she felt a strong arm grip her shoulder, pulling her upright. "You mustn't fall. Are you ill?"  
"I'm all right," she smiled weakly at the young man. "Just faint. The dancing must have tired me."  
"Yes, it is disorienting," he smiled at her, a flash of beautiful teeth and vivacious blue eyes. "Would you like to sit down?"  
"No, she smiled back, shaking her head for emphasis. "I must find my husband. We were parted in the festivities."  
"Of course." He extended his arm. The disappointment registered in his eyes, but he was considerate nonetheless. "I shall help you, Mrs..."  
"Sparrow," she replied, taking his arm gratefully. "Captain Jack Sparrow."  
"Well Mrs. Sparrow," he led her down the stairwell. "You must have a knack for finding sea-faring men."  
"How so, sirrah?"  
"Because I am a captain myself, in the royal fleet. Captain Adam Norrington, of the i>Compass /I>."  
"My, that must be exciting. Have you been sailing long?"  
With that, Alinnya found herself in conversation with the only friend she'd made since they'd dropped anchor.

"Ah, there you are!" Jack's step did not falter noticably at notice of her escort, but she could read the mistrust in his eyes easily enough.  
"Captain Sparrow, I presume?" Adam chuckled happily. "I am here, in hopes of your good graces, to return your wayward wife." He loosed her arm and pushed her gently toward him.  
"Captain Norrington was kind enough to escort me," she smiled, she hoped reassuringly, at Jack as she placed herself at his side. "I thank you kindly," she added to Adam.  
"Quite my pleasure," he tipped his hat. "Captain Sparrow, I hope we meet again, perhaps to exchange a tale or two. But the hour is late, and my family awaits me. Good night to you both." He bowed low, and departed.  
"What was that, my dear?" Jack asked quietly, unmoving.  
"Exactly what I told you, love, nothing more." She swollowed. "We do need to talk."  
"On?"  
"I'm afraid... that... our current lifestyle might seperate us."  
"You mean, you, running off with little boys, will not cause that?"  
"Jack, I would not betray you. Would you me?"  
"You accuse me?" he turned to face her. "After... that, you accuse me?"  
"I know you." She whispered. "Pirate."  
"Aye," he chuckled, stepping away from her a little. The silent confession stung. "Perhaps this was a mistake."  
"Well, we're stuck in this i>mistake /i> for a good while, Jack." She turned, fighting the desire of her face to tense in hurt and anger, fighting the tears that threatened. "Your mistake. Perhaps you should fix it before we i>drown /i> in it?"  
"Ah, there are my two lovebirds," Roland gripped them both, seemingly oblivious to their argument. "It is time to return to the nest, wouldn't you say?"

Roland had arranged for them to sleep in seperate rooms. To Alinnya, the insult was... insulting. Jack, in his current state, didn't seem to mind.  
Watching him slam the door on her had been more painful than she liked to admit.  
She'd sent the maids away, undressing herself and standing, in her pirate's shirt and the simple white slip, in front of the mirror.  
i>Is it that obvious? /i>  
Maybe her waist was too wide. Her voice too loud. Her words too rash. Maybe... what...  
what do they want?  
What do i>I /i> want?  
Standing there, she made her decision. She didn't know how. She didn't know what good it would do.  
But she wouldn't give him up without a fight.


End file.
